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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697880">The Thorns of Sixty Five Roses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tor_Raptor/pseuds/Tor_Raptor'>Tor_Raptor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gravesen Chronicles [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Hospital, Asthma, BPSSE, Bullying, But that's not ironic, Chronic Illness, Friendship, Gen, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Avengers, Medical Procedures, Medical Realism, Middle School, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers' A+ parenting, She's actually the best, Surgery, Teen Avengers, cystic fibrosis, major character illness, that's big pre-serum Steve energy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:28:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>62,787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tor_Raptor/pseuds/Tor_Raptor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Steve, there was no before or after Gravesen, only between. That's the chronic illness gig. However, there was a before Tony, before Carol, before Clint and Scott, and before Bucky. His story begins there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carol Danvers &amp; Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gravesen Chronicles [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sixty Five Roses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As I've mentioned, I planned on having about 20,000 words of backstory for each character. But there was so much ground to cover for Steve that here we are with 20 chapters and 60,000 words ahead of us. I did a lot of research on cystic fibrosis to bring this piece to life (thank you CF Foundation for having such an informative and thorough website and blog), and I sincerely hope that I've portrayed it accurately. There is so much within this story that I'm looking forward to sharing with you all, but for now let's begin exploring Steve's journey from the true beginning...</p>
<p>Side note: six-year-old Steve Rogers might just be my new favorite character.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first several years, Steve didn't think his life was all that different from anyone else's. The opportunity to thoroughly compare his daily routine to another kid's never arose, and even if it did he wouldn't have taken advantage of it. As a toddler, he had much more important things to do than wonder if other kids had to do all the same things he did.</p>
<p>The important words were already engrained in his vocabulary by the time he was old enough to string a sentence together. Enzymes. CPT, or chest physical therapy. Cough, deep breathing, mucus, medicine. All related to the big word, the one that he learned pretty early on defined him almost as much as being a person did. Sixty five roses. At least, that's how he said it. The grown-ups said cystic fibrosis, but that was a big, confusing word for a little mouth to say. Steve didn't really know what it meant, but he did manage to draw a connection between it and many of the things he did every day.</p>
<p>Anytime he ate, his mom first cut open a little pill and poured the beads on applesauce for him to eat. If he didn't finish it, he wasn't allowed to eat, so he always did. Besides, he liked applesauce. He took other pills too that helped him with things like opening his airways and fighting infections. Between those and the enzymes, he took more than twenty pills every day. On Sundays he and his mom counted them out and put them in his pill containers for the week, and he knew all of them by name by the time he turned four. Twice daily, before breakfast and before dinner, he did his inhaled medications through the nebulizer mask and they did CPT. Steve didn't particularly enjoy it, but his parents made up the rule that he could only watch Paw Patrol during CPT, so if he squirmed away he wouldn't get to watch. Mostly Daddy did it since Mommy worked, but they both knew the routine by heart. Steve just had to sit or lie down in a bunch of different positions while Daddy worked his back and chest to get him to cough up mucus. Steve's only jobs were staying still and deep breathing when Daddy said so. One of his doctors taught him how to deep breathe and he got lots of practice. He liked to think he was pretty good at it.</p>
<p>They visited doctors a lot, every three months when he went to clinic. Most of them were really nice, but they used a lot of words he didn't understand. Sometimes they poked him with needles and pulled blood out, X-rayed his chest and abdomen, and listened to his lungs with a stethoscope. Every time, they asked him to cough and then stuck a swab so far back in his throat that he felt like he was choking. They explained the throat culture was meant to look out for germs that might hurt him, but that didn't make him hate it any less. The most exciting thing he ever got to do was blow as hard as he could on the special machine for his PFT, pulmonary function test. After he turned five, they moved to a new apartment in Brooklyn so he could meet Dr. Erskine and bunch of other new doctors. He liked Dr. Erskine; the man sounded really cool when he talked and he always included Steve by explaining the big words in ways he could understand.</p>
<p>But the best part about moving to Brooklyn was meeting Bucky.</p>
<p>Steve and his parents visited the Barnes for dinner and he had so much fun playing with Bucky that he didn't want to leave. The two of them had countless playdates since they lived so close together, and Steve got to know him better than he'd ever known another kid before. It was great, but with that friendship came the realization that Bucky lived very differently than Steve. He didn't do CPT, he didn't take enzymes—which Steve's mom now made him swallow whole—and his parents didn't freak out if he didn't finish his dinner. Steve asked his parents one day why Bucky didn't do these things, and they explained that Bucky didn't have cystic fibrosis like Steve did. Only then did Steve truly understand that CF made him different than all the other kids.</p>
<p>That was okay, though. It was just a thing.</p>
<p>But after his first extended stay at Gravesen, he realized it was a thing that made him sick.</p>
<p>Gravesen was a hospital, That much he knew just by looking at it. He normally went just to see Dr. Erskine and the rest of his team and returned home the same day, but this time was different. This time, they put him in a room on a hallway with a bunch of other rooms just like it. He'd never been to this part of the hospital before, and it scared him. Other kids occupied some of the other rooms, but they were all way older than Steve. A lot of things happened that first day.</p>
<p>He met Nurse Peggy, who explained, while sticking him with a needle to draw blood, that he was going to get a tube placed in his arm so they wouldn't have to stick him with more needles. Steve thought that sounded like a great idea until he understood exactly what that would entail. They gave him medicine to make him go to sleep so they could insert the line and also stick a tube down into his lungs to see the most congested areas better than an X-ray could. He woke up with his throat numb, a patch of his arm covered in a clear dressing, and a tube just hanging there. It was terrifying. However, he didn't get stuck with any more needles after, which was awesome. They put all the medicine in and took blood samples out through the tube, apparently called a PICC line, and he didn't even feel it.</p>
<p>Steve stayed at Gravesen for two weeks, which he didn't like one bit. Mommy or Daddy was always with him, but he missed his home and his toys and his bed. The first night he cried for an hour at bedtime because he didn't want to sleep here in this unfamiliar place. Every day, he got medicine through the tube. It hung from bags on a pole he could roll around with him if he walked around the ward. He also breathed in other medicine, and did exercises for his chest and ribs with a man named Dr. Pym. Those parts weren't so bad, but Steve did not like the way they did CPT here. Not at all.</p>
<p>At home, it happened twice a day and that was it. Here, a respiratory therapist visited him four times a day. He wasn't nearly as gentle as Daddy, and he made Steve cough so hard that his whole body hurt. More mucus came out of his lungs than ever before, and it tasted horrible on its way out.</p>
<p>It wouldn't have been that bad if he had company, but Bucky could only visit once during Steve's entire stay, and he was too scared of everything in here to do much playing. The other kids all knew each other already and made no effort to include Steve in any of their big kid games. Steve did learn their names, though. Logan, Charlie, Max, and Jean.</p>
<p>After two weeks, they removed the PICC line, he picked out a Paw Patrol band-aid to cover the spot, and he got to go home! He'd never been more excited to walk through his own front door. "I never want to do that again," he proclaimed as Mommy helped him get ready for bed that night.</p>
<p>"I know it wasn't fun, but don't you feel better than you did right before?"</p>
<p>"I guess so." He had been coughing more than usual and didn't want to eat very much. But that wasn't as bad as two weeks in the hospital. "But I don't wanna go there again."</p>
<p>"I know, buddy, but sometimes we have to do things we don't want to, and for you that means going to Gravesen sometimes. We need to everything we can to keep you healthy."</p>
<p>"Okay," he sighed.</p>
<p>The next time he went to see the doctor, they seemed very happy with how his lungs were working. However they were not happy with his height and weight. "At his age we should be seeing a gain of about five pounds and two inches a year, but over the last six months there's been no increase in either. He actually lost significant weight after the exacerbation."</p>
<p>"They told us that might happen," his mother sighed. Steve understood what they were talking about, but he didn't see why it was such a big deal. They talked for a long time about things like calories and supplements, but Steve stopped paying attention and returned to his coloring.</p>
<p>After that, his parents got a lot stricter about how much he ate, to the point where sometimes he ended up crying when they pushed him to clean his plate even when he was full. They made him drink these things that looked like milkshakes but didn't taste nearly as good, but they also let him have real milkshakes so often that he found he didn't really want them anymore. He could never finish one anyway.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>Steve and Bucky started kindergarten that fall, and they were in the same class. They'd never been so excited for anything in their lives. Mom and Dad talked to his teacher and a bunch of other people at the school about his CF and other needs. Though Steve didn't remember this, when he was three he had a severe asthma attack from exposure to a cat at his mom's friend's house. They had him tested and found he was allergic to dogs and dust mites too, so he needed to avoid them. The school didn't currently teach any students who utilized service animals, so they were all clear in that respect. His only real accommodation would be visiting the nurse's office before lunch every day to take his enzymes.</p>
<p>For the first week, his teacher accompanied him, but she soon delegated that responsibility to Bucky. The lunchroom was very close to the nurse, so Steve could've easily gone alone, but the buddy system was apparently mandatory, and Bucky didn't mind tagging along. Steve loved everything about kindergarten. He got to see Bucky five days a week for almost the entire day, and sometimes he came over after school to play for even longer. Steve was elated to start reading some of his own bedtime stories instead of letting Mommy or Daddy do all of it. Now, they only had to help him with the big words.</p>
<p>On a Friday in October, Bucky slept over for the first time because Mr. and Mrs. Barnes were going to a wedding upstate. They talked about it nonstop all day at school. When they got to Steve's after school, they dumped their backpacks and dashed off to Steve's room to play with a rushed "hello" to Mr. Rogers.</p>
<p>"Steve, did you finish your lunch today?" his dad asked from the other room.</p>
<p>"Yeah!" he called.</p>
<p>"Why does the inside of your lunchbox tell me otherwise?"</p>
<p>Steve sighed. He'd forgotten that he'd only drank half of his supplement today. Dad brought the bottle into the room and handed it to Steve to finish.</p>
<p>"It's warm now. They taste gross warm."</p>
<p>"Fine. I'll put it in the fridge for half an hour, and then you have to finish it, okay?"</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
<p>Thirty minutes later, their game was interrupted by Steve's dad returning with the drink, a dose of enzymes, and enough apples and peanut butter for both of them. It wasn't the first time Bucky had been over after school, but he almost always commented, "Your parents make the best snacks." Personally, Steve thought the snacks at Bucky's house were just as good, if not better, but he didn't argue. Dad stayed to ensure Steve finished everything he was supposed to, then left them to their games. They spent hours building a track out of books and blocks and driving cars around it, occasionally disrupting them with attacks from a dinosaur. Just after their most magnificent crash, Steve's mom returned from work and called them out to say hi. Steve barreled into her arms for a hug while Bucky hung back a few paces. "Hi Mrs. Rogers," he said.</p>
<p>"Hi Bucky, how are you?"</p>
<p>"Good."</p>
<p>"Do you want to see our racetrack?" Steve asked eagerly.</p>
<p>"Maybe in a little bit. I'm gonna go change clothes and then do your CPT while Dad makes dinner."</p>
<p>"Do we have to do it? Bucky's here and I wanna play with him."</p>
<p>"Yes, we have to. You know that." She kissed his forehead and headed to her room. Steve pouted, but he pulled himself together for Bucky's sake.</p>
<p>"So, your parents are going to a wedding?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Bucky replied.</p>
<p>"Who's getting married?"</p>
<p>"My dad's old friend. They went to sleepaway camp together every summer."</p>
<p>"Cool."</p>
<p>"I wasn't invited. They said it was boring for kids," Bucky explained.</p>
<p>"A sleepover is more fun than a wedding."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Alright, you ready?" Mom asked, reemerging in regular clothes instead of her scrubs.</p>
<p>"No," Steve grumbled.</p>
<p>"What are we doing?" Bucky asked confusedly.</p>
<p>"Steve and I will show you."</p>
<p>Reluctantly, Steve grabbed his pillow and sat down in the chair his mom moved in from the kitchen. Mom explained all about CPT to Bucky while she went through the motions. Steve couldn't really talk normally with the vibration resonating through his chest and intermittent coughing, so he just listened. Bucky caught on pretty quickly to the idea and accepted this as a part of CF just as he had with the enzyme pills. Afterwards, they ate dinner; Steve's dad made homemade pizza dough and let them help put on toppings. That was always Steve's favorite part. Bucky and Steve got to stay up late, much to their delight. The Barnes ended up staying for two hours when they came to pick him up because he and Steve didn't want to part. Fortunately, the Rogers and the Barnes got along just as well as their sons.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>At Steve's next doctor's appointment, he sensed they were not pleased. The discussion dragged on and on until Steve nearly fell asleep from boredom. In the days after, his parents were incredibly tense, having whispered conversations in the kitchen and giving him even more hugs and kisses than usual—which was a lot. Something was going on, but he couldn't put his finger on what. Eventually, he found out.</p>
<p>Steve grabbed the Knuffle Bunny book off the shelf and eagerly presented it to his mother. She took it, but instead of opening it to read she cast it aside. "I want to read a new book tonight," she explained to him. Steve was really in the mood for Knuffle Bunny, but he thought it was fair to let Mom choose tonight since he chose all the time. He crawled under the covers as she picked up the new book and sat next to him.</p>
<p>Steve was learning to read, so he could decipher most of his books on his own, but he liked it more when Mom read to him. He looked at the cover of the book and read aloud, "My Belly Has Two Buttons." The title didn't make much sense to him. Neither did the picture on the cover, which had two hands making a heart around a blue button and a weird-shaped white thing. "What does that mean?"</p>
<p>"Why don't we read the book and find out?"</p>
<p>Steve leaned in closer to Mom as she began to read about Nico, a little boy with a tube in his stomach to give him food, water, and medicine. In the middle, he found himself running a hand over his stomach to make sure he still only had one belly button. While he enjoyed the story, it was no Knuffle Bunny, and Steve had no idea why his mother wanted to read this so badly.</p>
<p>"What did you think?" Mom asked after she closed the book. She showed him the picture on the back, a real photo and not just a drawing, of one of the white tubes sticking out of a person's stomach. Honestly, it freaked Steve out a little bit.</p>
<p>"Knuffle Bunny is better," he said matter-of-factly. "Can we read that too?"</p>
<p>"No, we're going to talk about this a little longer, okay? It's very important."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"Because very soon, you're going to get a button just like in the book."</p>
<p>"No!" Steve immediately curled around his stomach as if protecting it from someone sticking a tube in there.</p>
<p>"Yes, sweetheart. The doctors say you need one to help you grow."</p>
<p>"But I can eat normal!" The boy in the book wasn't allowed to eat anything with his mouth, which is why he got a tube, but Steve could do that. He ate every day, just the same as all the other kids.</p>
<p>"I know you can, and you will still eat normally after the tube. It's just there so we can give you the extra food that you need, does that make sense? I've told you before that CF means you have to eat more than other kids your age, and this is going to make it so much easier for you to do that. You won't have to eat more than you want to anymore."</p>
<p>"But I don't want it!"</p>
<p>She ran a comforting hand through his hair. "I know, but you'll get used to it so fast that you'll hardly remember what it was like before."</p>
<p>"I don't want to get used to that. I don't want any tubes."</p>
<p>"Steve, I know it's scary, but you have to trust me and trust the doctors, okay? Having more nutrition is going to make you feel better."</p>
<p>"But I don't feel bad."</p>
<p>"That doesn't mean you can't feel even <em>better</em>," she assured. "How does that sound?"</p>
<p>Steve had to admit that seemed pretty cool, but he didn't know if it was worth it. "Can I take it out if I don't like it?" he questioned.</p>
<p>Mom hesitated before starting to answer. "No, Steve. Once it's in it has to stay there until the doctors say it can come out, okay?"</p>
<p>"How does it even get there in the first place?"</p>
<p>"Well, that's the easy part," she told him. "They put it in while you're asleep so you don't feel anything."</p>
<p>"What do they do while I'm asleep?" At this point, he was genuinely curious.</p>
<p>"They put a tube down your throat with a teeny, tiny camera so they can see what they're doing inside your stomach," she explained. Steve listened with wide-eyed fascination. "And then they make a small cut where the tube is going to go and pop it into place. That's all there is to it."</p>
<p>"That sounds scary," he said warily.</p>
<p>"You don't have to worry about that because you'll be sleeping."</p>
<p>"What happens when I wake up?"</p>
<p>"Daddy and I will be there, and nurses are going to make sure you're doing okay and show us how to take care of the tube."</p>
<p>"Will you help me take care of it?"</p>
<p>"Of course. But you're going to learn too so you can help me and do some of it all by yourself, okay?"</p>
<p>Steve still wasn't sure about the whole concept, but he didn't want to make Mom mad by arguing. Plus, she sounded kind of excited for this, and he wanted her to be happy. "Okay," he acquiesced. She wrapped him up in a great big hug and kissed his temple. Then, she picked up Knuffle Bunny and read that book too. Steve listened attentively, but he started to doze by page seven and was fast asleep before she even finished.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. G-Tube Blues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Thanksgiving for those of you that celebrate it. I thought I'd present a bonus chapter (and a long one at that) for the occasion, even though this one takes place partially on Christmas. Oops. I guess I can't time them all perfectly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He didn't get the chance to tell Bucky about getting a tube before it happened because it was Christmas vacation. Even if he had the chance, Steve wasn't sure he wanted to tell Bucky. The idea of the tube was still pretty frightening, and he didn't want to freak Bucky out. Christmas at home passed much the same as usual. He woke up two hours before his parents in his excitement, and paced his room waiting for them to rise. When he heard stirring from their room and footsteps heading downstairs, he dashed after them.</p>
<p>"Steve, grab your CPT pillow and get set up," his father instructed.</p>
<p>"Can't we do Christmas first?" Steve pleaded.</p>
<p>"No. First CPT, then Christmas."</p>
<p>Steve grumbled, but did as he was told. Dad put on How the Grinch Stole Christmas while they worked through all the various positions. Steve knew the routine by heart at this point, so all his dad needed to say was "Next" for Steve to know which way to turn. They finished almost exactly in time with the conclusion of the Grinch, and the scent of waffles drifted in from the kitchen.</p>
<p>Once he swallowed his enzymes, Mom let him butter his own waffle, much to his glee. She always added so much that it made the waffle soggy—she was always finding ways to force more food into him and he didn't like it one bit. But she promised that she wouldn't do that anymore after he got his tube, and he had to admit he was looking forward to that aspect of it. After breakfast, they opened presents and watched It's a Wonderful Life. He didn't really understand the movie, despite having watched it every Christmas for his entire life, but his father refused to skip this particular tradition and refused to let Steve sit out.</p>
<p>That night, Mom gently reminded him about tomorrow's surgery. "Can we read about Nico?" Steve asked, lip wobbling. He hoped Mom couldn't tell how scared he was. She nodded and read him the book about two belly buttons again. Steve was so exhausted from the excitement of the day that he fell asleep before the end.</p>
<p>Dad woke him up early to do CPT before they left for the hospital. For the first time since he was a toddler, Steve fought it. He was tired and afraid and hungry, but he wasn't allowed to eat before the procedure, so the hunger quickly turned to grumpiness. Dad had to hold him in place while Mom did the percussion and Steve struggled. He knew they were upset with him but they were trying not to show it.</p>
<p>Steve spent the entire car ride to the hospital with his hand resting on his stomach, wondering how weird it was going to feel when there was another button there. They checked in, and Steve got a bracelet and a gown to wear. People asked his parents a bunch of questions about him, and he sat in solemn silence while they patiently answered. Fear crawled up his throat like mucus when he coughed during CPT, the sensation only building when they started hooking him up to machines. They wrapped something around his arm and snapped something else on one of his fingers. Worst of all, they stabbed a needle in his arm and taped it down.</p>
<p>"I don't want to do this," he whimpered.</p>
<p>"I know, buddy, but I promise you it's going to be worth it," Mom said with a kiss to the top of his head. Only one of his parents got to come with him when they took him to another, even scarier room, so Dad said goodbye before they left. He also exchanged a glance with Mom, but Steve was too frightened to try and decipher what that glance communicated. The new room was filled with bright lights and strange machines. Steve clung to his mom's hand and silently hoped she'd change her mind and take him home. One of the doctors told him to count down from ten as he moved to press a mask over Steve's face. He squeezed Mom's hand even tighter and held his breath because he didn't want to go to sleep, and he knew that smelling whatever was in the mask would make him.</p>
<p>"Don't fight it," Mom encouraged. "It's alright." He didn't want to, but he couldn't help obeying. From the first inhale, he started counting like the doctor said, and he didn't even get to five before everything turned fuzzy and then shut down completely.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>When he woke up, Mom and Dad were there, as they'd promised. His stomach felt really full and his throat scratchy and sore, but mostly he was just sleepy. "You're all done," his father said. "You did great." That's weird, he thought. He didn't do much of anything. Over the next half an hour or so, he gradually grew more coherent.</p>
<p>"How do you feel?" Mom asked.</p>
<p>"Icky," he replied, not knowing how else to articulate it.</p>
<p>"Does anything hurt?"</p>
<p>"My throat." He swallowed and regretted it.</p>
<p>"You can suck on some ice if you want, that might make it feel better." A nurse walked into the room and offered him a little cup of ice with a spoon. He accepted and placed one of them in his mouth. She lifted up his gown to check the site and Steve almost dropped the cup. There was a long tube sticking out of his skin—not a small button like in the book. Mommy <em>lied</em>.</p>
<p>Trying very hard not to start crying, he said, "That's a lot bigger than a button."</p>
<p>"You have to start with one like this, and then in a few weeks when it's healed they'll switch it out for a button," the nurse explained kindly. "It'll be super easy and quick." He didn't want to have this tubing hanging off of him for a few weeks. In less than a few weeks he'd go back to school, and all of his classmates would see it and think Steve was weird. "Okay, we're going to start with just water and see how he tolerates it, and then we'll progress to formula, sound good?"</p>
<p>Steve watched as the nurse showed his parents how to connect everything and flush the tube. His mother caught on easily, being a nurse herself. He stopped listening when she started drawling on about how to fix some potential problems and stopped actually doing anything. Mom and Dad, however, listened very closely and nodded periodically to show they understood. When the nurse set up for the first flush, though, she asked Steve if he wanted to help. Despite his aversion to the tube, he wasn't about to pass up the chance to do something himself, so he nodded slightly.</p>
<p>"Okay," she said. She pulled out a big syringe and filled it with some water, then placed the tip in the end of his tube. "Alright, you're going to push down on the plunger slowly," she instructed, handing Steve the syringe.</p>
<p>"Is it gonna hurt?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Nope." He trusted her to be honest about that and started pushing until all the water was gone. "Excellent," she commended. He handed the syringe back and she disconnected it from the tube. "Now we're going to hook you up to some water, okay?" Steve nodded. She connected a bag of clear fluid on top of an IV pole to the tubing and announced, "All set. Now, one thing is very important, you have to be reclining at least thirty degrees. You can never lie down flat while you're receiving feed."</p>
<p>"Why not?" Steve asked.</p>
<p>"You might choke," she explained. Then, turning to his parents, she asked if they had a wedge pillow so he could sleep elevated at home. Steve had never seen such a thing, though his parents said they already had one, along with all the other equipment they'd been told they would need. Steve wondered how he was supposed to sleep if he couldn't lie down. He asked as much, but they told him it was just another thing he would have to get used to.</p>
<p>The water in his tube wasn't so bad, but when they switched him over to formula he couldn't stop himself from freaking out. It looked like watery oatmeal and the mere sight of it made him sick to his stomach. The idea of that stuff dripping down into his stomach was gross.</p>
<p>"You're not going to taste it," Mom assured him. "It's not going to be any different than the water."</p>
<p>"I don't want it." Now he was crying uncontrollably despite his parents' attempts to comfort him. The frantic quivering in his chest aggravated the fresh wound in his stomach, which hurt so badly that it only made him sob harder.</p>
<p>"Steve, this is the stuff that has all the good nutrients in it. It's what's going to help you grow big and strong," Dad explained.</p>
<p>"I don't care! I don't want it!" What he didn't know was that, while he was distracted by his tantrum, the nurse had already connected the formula bag and set up the pump. He didn't realize it until his mom pointed it out.</p>
<p>"See? It's not so bad."</p>
<p>He sniffled and looked once again at the tubing, finding it full of formula already flowing into him. It didn't feel bad at all, he had to admit. "Not bad," he confessed. Within twenty minutes he'd fallen asleep again.</p>
<p>Steve spent the night in the hospital to ensure he could tolerate the amount prescribed to him by the nutritionist based on his daily intake and current weight. He woke up in the morning to an empty feed bag, and the nurse helped him to flush the line again. She also took the dressing around the tube off, revealing a small ring of pink skin around where the tube entered his body. It looked perfect, according to her, and she showed all of them how to properly clean it. She also pulled his IV, placing a Scooby-Doo band-aid over the site. Steve got to go home that afternoon, his parents loaded with instructions on how to do everything from unclog the tube to give medication through it if necessary.</p>
<p>Steve spent a good portion of his first hours home asleep. His throat was still sore, but getting better, and the area around the tube ached. Everything went smoothly until that night. His bedroom had gotten a makeover. Steve didn't know when his parents got all this stuff or where they'd been keeping it, but his room looked like a hybrid hospital room now. His pillows had been replaced with one giant wedge that would prevent him from lying flat while he slept. His nightstand, which was already covered mostly in pill bottles, now had its bottom compartment filled with cartons of formula to be stored at room temperature. The most noticeable difference: the addition of an IV pole with a pump. It looked so much like a hospital that for a moment Steve wondered if he'd dreamed going home and was actually still at Gravesen.</p>
<p>"Are you okay?" Mom asked when he froze upon walking into his room for bedtime.</p>
<p>"I hate it!" he proclaimed.</p>
<p>"Hate is a strong word. What do you not like?"</p>
<p>"All this stuff." He pointed to the offending objects.</p>
<p>"All of that is necessary to set up the feeds. You'll get used to it before you know it."</p>
<p>"I don't want a hospital pole in my room."</p>
<p>"And I'm sure Mr. Pole doesn't want your company either if you're going to be a grump."</p>
<p>"Mr. Pole?"</p>
<p>"He's here to help you, so I think we should give him a name so he sounds more like a friend. But we can do better than Mr. Pole. Can you think of a good name for him?"</p>
<p>Steve pondered for a moment. What could he name a pole? He didn't want to pick something stupid. Ultimately, he chose, "Roger," because, he told his mother, if this pole was going to share his room, he should have some tie to the family name.</p>
<p>"I think that's a very good name, and I think Roger is very excited for his first night on the job."</p>
<p>Once he put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth, he crawled under the covers and leaned against the big wedge pillow, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Mom left to wash her hands, then returned and worked with the same efficiency as the nurse from the hospital. She poured the formula into the bag and hung it up, then pulled back the covers to grab the end of Steve's tube and connect it to the bag tube.</p>
<p>She handed Steve his enzyme pills and a cup of water, which he swallowed, then pressed a bunch of buttons on the pump to set the flow rate. "Is it going in now?" Steve asked.</p>
<p>"Yep. All set." She sat down next to him and they read a story, a Dr. Seuss this time, but Steve didn't fall asleep. By the end, he didn't feel sleepy at all. He couldn't stop staring up at Roger and the bag of formula hanging off of him. In the low light it looked frightening, but he was afraid if he rolled over so he couldn't see it he would get tangled in the tubing.</p>
<p>"What if I roll over in my sleep and get all tangled up?" he asked.</p>
<p>"You're not that much of a restless sleeper," she told him. "It's gonna be fine."</p>
<p>"What if I accidentally pull on something and it leaks?"</p>
<p>"Then we'll clean it up. Steve, this is brand new, and we're going to make a few mistakes, but it's okay. We'll fix them and we'll learn from them and soon you won't even think about them."</p>
<p>"Promise?"</p>
<p>"I promise."</p>
<p>She offered him a goodnight kiss and left the room, leaving the door cracked just the way he liked. He'd taken medicine for it, but his stomach around the tube still hurt enough to be uncomfortable, and Roger stood over his bed like a monster watching him. Steve closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep, but it didn't work. By the time he dared open his eyes again, his clock indicated that an hour and a half had passed. Steve threw back the covers and eased himself to the floor, padding over to the door to go find his parents. He'd almost made it into the hallway when a painful tug at his stomach reminded him why he couldn't sleep in the first place. He'd tried to walk away while still connected to the pole. If he wanted to go anywhere, he'd have to bring Roger with him. But he didn't want to do that. He could also call out; his parents were light sleepers and they would probably hear him and wake up, but crying to Mom and Dad was a babyish thing to do. Steve was no baby.</p>
<p>Instead, he turned on his light and gathered as many books off of his shelf as he could carry, careful not to move far enough away from Roger to tug on his tube again. He plopped them down in a stack beside him and started reading, skipping any big words he didn't know. Steve read and read and read until he forgot about Roger looming over him. By the time he reached the end of the stack and glanced back up at the pole, he noticed the amount of formula in the bag had gone down. Still unable to fall asleep, he returned all the books and grabbed the next stack. When he finished those, he returned them and read the first books over again.</p>
<p>He'd read every book he owned twice over before he so much as yawned, but he still couldn't fall asleep. The only time he'd actually fallen asleep propped up like that was yesterday in the hospital when he'd still had all that sleepy medicine in his system. Steve considered lying down, but the nurse's warning that he might choke haunted him and stopped that train of thought in its tracks. Choking was definitely worse than not sleeping.</p>
<p>Dawn arrived, and Mom found him in his room with the lights still on, reading Knuffle Bunny for the fifth time that night. "Steve, what are you doing up?" she questioned.</p>
<p>"Reading," he said. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong, but his mother's tone bordered between angry and disappointed.</p>
<p>"What time did you wake up?"</p>
<p>"I didn't go to sleep," he said honestly.</p>
<p>"Why didn't you come get one of us if you couldn't sleep?"</p>
<p>Steve shrugged. "I didn't want to bother you."</p>
<p>"Didn't you get tired in the middle of the night?" she asked, moving forward to sit down beside Steve on the bed.</p>
<p>"Yeah. I'm super tired, but I couldn't fall asleep sitting up like this and I couldn't lie down because the nurse said I would choke, so I just stayed up and read books all night. Are you mad at me?"</p>
<p>"No, of course I'm not mad, I just wish you had told me so I could help you."</p>
<p>"I couldn't leave without bringing Roger," he explained, pointing to the pole which had effectively kept him prisoner.</p>
<p>"Roger has wheels so you can bring him with you if you need to."</p>
<p>"I didn't know if he was allowed to leave."</p>
<p>"Roger is allowed to go wherever you need to go, Steve," she told him. "But now that he's done his job for the night, we can disconnect you. I'm gonna go wash my hands, and I'll be right back, okay?"</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
<p>She disconnected him from Roger and let him do the syringe of water before capping the tube. They walked downstairs together so she could clean the bag and all the tubing in the kitchen sink. While she worked she asked Steve what he wanted for breakfast.</p>
<p>"I'm not hungry," he insisted. "I basically ate all night long."</p>
<p>"Steve, this is not a replacement for eating normal food, it's in addition to. You said you still wanted to eat real food, remember?"</p>
<p>"I do, just not right now."</p>
<p>She sighed, but it didn't look like she was going to argue with him about it any longer. She did, however, make him take his meds. Steve long ago learned that no amount of arguing would ever get him out of that. When she finished washing the tubing, they skipped CPT because it would aggravate his incision, and then she let Steve watch TV. He fell asleep within twenty minutes, completely drained from the all-nighter he inadvertently pulled.</p>
<p>"He out?" Mr. Rogers asked.</p>
<p>Mrs. Rogers nodded. "Thankfully. Joseph, he stayed up all night because he couldn't fall asleep reclining. At least, that's what he said it was. He's also terrified."</p>
<p>"It's a scary thing for a kid to deal with."</p>
<p>"I tried to make it as normal as possible. I got him that book so he knows he's not the only kid with differences, and I even suggested he give the IV pole a name. He's calling it Roger, by the way, so he fits in with the family."</p>
<p>"That's adorable," Joseph said with a chuckle.</p>
<p>"Yeah, but I don't think it helped make him comfortable with the concept the way it was supposed to. I'm just afraid it's going to get worse when school starts again; he's going to feel even more isolated."</p>
<p>"Well, you made the right decision, scheduling this over winter break. It'll be less obvious to the other kids that anything's different since they've all been out of school, not just him."</p>
<p>"Most kids return from Christmas break with a fun new gadget, new sneakers, maybe a tan if they're from one of those Christmas-at-the-beach families; this is a little different."</p>
<p>"I'm going to ignore the fact that you just lumped every family who's ever spent Christmas at the beach into one group that you clearly disapprove of and skip to the part where I agree with you. But so what if he's a little different? It's kindergarten, the other kids will probably think it's the coolest thing they've ever seen."</p>
<p>"And if they don't?"</p>
<p>"He's got Bucky. Speaking of which, have Winnie and George told him what's up?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, they had a conversation with him about it before Christmas."</p>
<p>"Is he gonna be cool about it?"</p>
<p>"Well, the first time he sees it he's bound to react like a normal kid, but he knows well enough that Steve needs things other kids don't. They'll both grow accustomed to it."</p>
<p>"I think Steve's getting really tired of hearing you say that."</p>
<p>"But it's <em>true</em>. I have to keep telling myself that, because I don't want to imagine what life will be like if we don't get used to it."</p>
<p>"It sounds like you're more worried about you adjusting than Steve."</p>
<p>"Maybe I am. It's just that…it's no longer an invisible disease for him. I know this was the right call, but he just seems so much sicker when you can see it on the outside."</p>
<p>"I see your point, but you have to remember the whole point of this was for him to be <em>less</em> sick. Improve his energy levels, decrease the frequency of exacerbation, the whole shebang. Once you start noticing the difference, you'll stop fretting."</p>
<p>Sarah's reply was cut off by the doorbell ringing. Reflexively, she looked to Steve to see if the noise had awoken him, but he remained dead to the world. She answered the door, surprised to find Winnifred and Bucky Barnes in the doorway. "Oh hello," she greeted.</p>
<p>"Hi Mrs. Rogers," Bucky said.</p>
<p>"What brings you here?"</p>
<p>"We just wanted to bring Steve a little something," Mrs. Barnes explained. Sarah glanced up and finally noticed the "get well soon" balloon clenched in Bucky's fist and the envelope in his other hand.</p>
<p>"Thank you so much, that's so kind of you."</p>
<p>"It's the least we can do."</p>
<p>"Can we see him?" Bucky asked.</p>
<p>"He's sleeping right now," Sarah informed them. "It was a bit of a rough night."</p>
<p>Mrs. Barnes looked at her with pity shining in her eyes, "I'm sorry to hear that."</p>
<p>"I hope he feels better soon," Bucky said.</p>
<p>"Me too," Sarah sighed. "When he wakes up, I'll tell him you stopped by. Again, thank you both so much."</p>
<p>"No problem. Let us know if there's anything we can do."</p>
<p>"We will, thank you." Sarah took the card and balloon string offered to her by Bucky and bid them goodbye. She brought both back into the kitchen where Joseph remained.</p>
<p>"Who was it?"</p>
<p>"Winnie and Bucky brought these for Steve," she explained, wiggling the balloon string.</p>
<p>"That was nice of them."</p>
<p>"We really struck gold in the neighbor department." She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and used it as weight to hold down the balloon, which she left in Steve's line of sight for when he woke. Looking at his small frame curled up on the couch like that, she couldn't help but lean down and plant a kiss on his forehead. She loved him more than life itself, but oftentimes she couldn't help but wish he'd been born without this particular genetic mutation.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've seen the tag 'Howard Stark's A+ parenting' many times, always used ironically of course. But can we talk about Sarah Rogers' actual A+ parenting? All we learned about her from the MCU is that she was a nurse in a TB ward, so I didn't have much to go on in writing her character, but I grew to adore her so much that I had to sneak in a little bit of her POV in this story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Logan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The sequel just hit 100k words, and I'm finally making some headway in the arcs of characters other than Steve and Bucky. We are very on track for a story much longer than Gravesen, and I for one am super duper excited :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve awoke six hours later, almost making up for the entire night's sleep he lost. He sat up blearily and saw a balloon floating in the middle of the room. It had a bunch of different colored band-aids on it and said "get well soon." Steve smiled.</p><p>"Hey sleepyhead," his father greeted from the kitchen.</p><p>"Hi," Steve replied meekly.</p><p>"Did you see what your friend picked out for you?"</p><p>"Bucky brought the balloon?"</p><p>"Yes. He and his mom stopped by to bring you that and this card," Dad explained, handing Steve an envelope that had already been cut open at the top for him. "They're sorry they missed you, but we didn't want to wake you up."</p><p>"Okay." Steve sat down at the table and pulled the card out.</p><p>"Do you want breakfast? Even though it's already two o'clock in the afternoon."</p><p>"Toast?" His stomach still felt weird after the surgery and he wasn't sure he could handle much more.</p><p>"Sure, bud." While Steve looked at the card, his father set about making toast. It was handmade, featuring a real band-aid stuck on the card with googly eyes and a smiley face on top. Bucky, or one of his parents, had drawn arms, legs, and hair to complete the character. Steve could tell whose message on the back of the card belonged to whom just from the handwriting. Mrs. Barnes' small, even print was relatively easy for him to read, "Sending you all the good wishes for a speedy recovery." The last word required some sounding out, but he managed. Mr. Barnes wrote him a similar message, and Bucky's scrawl was almost indecipherable except for Steve's name. Whatever. Steve didn't need to read it to feel his friend's love; the mere existence of the card and balloon proved that. He really missed Bucky, but he was afraid of what his best friend would way when he saw Steve. The last thing he wanted was to scare him.</p><p>"Here you go," Dad announced, plopping the plate of toast in front of Steve along with a glass of water and his enzymes. He preferred jam on his toast, but unless he adamantly demanded jam they always put peanut butter on it instead. Something about it having lots of fat and calories. "That's a very nice card they made you, huh?"</p><p>"Yeah," Steve said after swallowing a bite. "I like the googly eyes."</p><p>"Me too. How are you feeling?"</p><p>"'M still tired. But my throat's all better."</p><p>"That's good. And your stomach?"</p><p>"It still hurts, but only a little bit."</p><p>"Great. Your mom and I were going to take down the Christmas tree today, do you wanna help?"</p><p>"Sure." It wasn't nearly as fun as putting it up, but it gave him something to do. He'd read all of his books so many times that he probably wouldn't be entertained by any of them for at least a week. He finished one and a half pieces of the toast before deciding he didn't want anymore. Dad frowned at him but thankfully didn't force him to finish. Before they took it down, he sketched the Christmas tree on a scrap piece of paper. It wasn't one of the best drawings he'd ever done, but he blamed that on tiredness. The process of taking off all the ornaments took them about an hour and a half because Dad was very picky about which boxes they got packed away in.</p><p>Steve started dreading bedtime before it even drew near. During his before-dinner CPT he asked Mom, "Do we have to feed my tube tonight?"</p><p>"Yes. We have to do it every night until the doctor says otherwise."</p><p>"But I don't want to stay up all night again, and I can't sleep."</p><p>"You'll be able to sleep," she assured. "After pulling an all-nighter like that, you're going to be so tired that you fall asleep before I even leave the room."</p><p>"But what if I don't?"</p><p>"Then I'll stay until you do."</p><p>"You'd stay all night?"</p><p>"If you stay awake all night, then I will too," she vowed.</p><p>"But you need to sleep. You're going back to work tomorrow," Steve reminded her. She'd told him this earlier that day while they were doing the tree. The hospital where she worked, Steve could never remember its name, but it wasn't Gravesen, had given her four days off because of his surgery, but she had a shift tomorrow morning. He couldn't make her stay up with him and then go take care of people without enough sleep.</p><p>"And you need to sleep too, Steve. If you want me to go to bed so badly, maybe it'll force your brain to go to sleep."</p><p>"Does it really work like that?"</p><p>"It's worth a shot."</p><p>They repeated the same routine from last night to set up the formula and prime the pump. Steve did the water flush all by himself and Mom even let him connect the tubes, though she checked over his handiwork afterwards. Roger looked extra festive with Bucky's balloon tied to the base. "Now I know you read the heck out of all of these books already, but is there one you want me to read to you tonight?" she asked.</p><p>"You pick," Steve instructed. Mom perused his shelves for a minute before settling on the Flea's Sneeze. It was one of her favorites, he knew. His eyes started to droop just as the flea spread his cold to the pig. He felt Mom plant a kiss on his forehead and heard her whisper, "I love you," and then he slipped into sleep.</p><p>~0~</p><p>After New Year's, school resumed. Steve had slept through the night for five nights in a row now, after the rough adjustment to sleeping at a thirty degree angle. Roger didn't scare him anymore. What did scare him, however, was going to school. He picked out a shirt a little too big for him so it hung lower than the tube, but there was always a chance someone would see it. During his morning CPT, he was so preoccupied that Dad needed to remind him to cough.</p><p>He didn't speak a word of his fears to his father the whole morning, just ate his breakfast in silence. When he arrived at school, he instantly felt like all eyes were on him even if they really weren't. The only thing that brought him out of his funk was Bucky's exuberance at seeing him again.</p><p>"Steve!" he called, racing across the classroom to envelop his friend in a bear hug which Steve reciprocated. "I missed you."</p><p>"I missed you too Bucky."</p><p>"We came to visit, but your mom said you were sleeping, so we had to go home. But now you're awake!"</p><p>"Yeah, I'm awake," Steve said with a smile. They separated and Steve subconsciously moved his hands in front of the tube, despite it already being hidden by his shirt. Bucky looked right at the spot, but he didn't comment even though it looked like he really wanted to. The teacher called them all to attention and they gathered in a circle on the carpet at the front of the classroom.</p><p>"Welcome back, everybody. I hope you all had a nice break from school, but now we're back in learning mode." She said it with such enthusiasm, but none of the kids seemed very eager to be back in learning mode. "To start off our day, why don't we go around and share one cool thing we did over the winter break."</p><p>Steve bit down on his lip hard, knowing he didn't really have anything to share. His family hadn't gone anywhere interesting, nor had they really done much of note. At least, not anything he was willing to share with all these kids. The teacher knew about how he spent his break; his parents informed all relevant personnel at the school so if something went wrong they'd at least have some idea what to do. Would she expect him to talk about that because it was special? He didn't think his classmates needed to know that he needed help eating. That was his business. So, when his turn came around, he told them about his all-night reading binge. Most of these kids went to bed at eight o'clock, so the idea of staying up all night mesmerized them. Steve hadn't expected to garner this type of attention from his peers. He would much rather be the kid who stayed up all night than the kid with the tube.</p><p>Lunchtime arrived, and Steve and Bucky broke off from the line on its way to the cafeteria to stop by the nurse as they always did. Steve needed to take his enzymes before lunch, and the school required all medications remain with the nurse for both safe-keeping and to make sure he took them properly. In the three months since he started kindergarten, Steve had gotten to know the elementary school's nurse quite well. He and Bucky sat in their usual spots at the class's table, right on the end closest to the windows. Instead of opening his own lunchbox, Bucky simply sat and stared at Steve as if waiting for him to pull a rabbit out of a hat or something. Steve paid him no mind and started munching on his baby carrots.</p><p>"Wait, you're eating with your mouth?" Bucky sounded hopelessly confused. "I—I thought your food had to go in different now."</p><p>"What? Who told you that?" Steve asked. Now he was the one sounding hopelessly confused.</p><p>"My mom. She said that's why you had surgery, so that the food goes right in your belly instead of through your mouth."</p><p>Steve didn't realize his parents had made sure Bucky's mom told him about what happened. He'd assumed he would have to tell his friend all about it himself. Evidently, he still had to, because there had been some serious miscommunication.</p><p>"I can do both," Steve informed him. "The tube's just for extra food at night. During the day I can just eat normal."</p><p>"Oh." Bucky seemed…dejected. Steve now understood that Bucky had thought he would get to see the tube in action and was disappointed he hadn't. He had mixed feelings about this realization. On the one hand, he wasn't a circus act, but on the other he did find the process kind of cool and he wanted to share it with his best friend the same way they showed each other new toys they got.</p><p>"Next time you come over I can show you how it works. I'm not supposed to touch it if I'm not using it."</p><p>"Okay." Bucky perked right up and starting eating his own lunch as if nothing happened. After school that day, Bucky came over and Steve introduced him to Roger and showed him the cartons of formula. "It looks like a juice box," Bucky remarked.</p><p>"It kinda does, but you can't drink it. It tastes gross."</p><p>"Did you taste it?"</p><p>"No, but Mom told me it doesn't taste good, and I believe her."</p><p>Steve convinced his dad to let him put a syringe of water in it just to show Bucky how it works. Bucky watched raptly as Steve pushed down the plunger until the syringe was empty. "That's so cool," Bucky remarked.</p><p>"You think so?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>Well, if Bucky thought it was cool then it certainly wasn't that bad. But the coolest part by far was his mother's reaction when she weighed him every week. The first time she nearly cried tears of joy at the number that came up. The second time, she hugged him so tightly that he couldn't breathe. "It's working, Steve," she announced triumphantly. At this age he didn't truly understand the importance or the ramifications of weight gain, but seeing his mom that happy made him happy.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Six weeks after his surgery, Steve's parents took him to visit a doctor who switched out the dangling tube for a little button, almost like the valve on a beach ball that you blow up. The nurse at the hospital was right; it was super quick and didn't hurt at all, but for a brief second Steve got to see an empty hole in his stomach. That kind of freaked him out. The button was way better than the tube. It didn't flap around when he ran on the playground and it was way easier to hide.</p><p>Just as Mom had promised, he got used to it. He slept just as restfully reclining as he used to when he could lie flat, and he could connect and disconnect all the tubing by himself. Mom or Dad still monitored the pump settings, but sometimes they let him push the buttons for them. Bucky got to see the whole shebang when he slept over one weekend, and Steve even let him do the water flush before he connected the feed bag.</p><p>As resistant as he'd been to the idea at first, Steve had to admit that everything they told him about the feeding tube came true. He had more energy and could play outside or run for longer. His parents didn't force him to clean his plate when he couldn't imagine swallowing another mouthful, and he didn't have to drink as many of those yucky supplement drinks. To summarize: he was actually thankful for his second belly button.</p><p>~0~</p><p>In February, Steve caught a cold—probably from Bucky, but they both denied it—that took root in his lungs and ultimately sent him back to the hospital. Steve was furious because he had to miss school and wept the entire drive up, which certainly did not help his shortness of breath. Peggy and the other nurses tried to cheer him up, but he was as determined to remain morose as a six-year-old could be.</p><p>By day four he was exhausted from all his treatments and wanted nothing more than to go home. Mere minutes before he would have dozed off, a sound from down the hall frightened him awake. Someone was crying, but not a little kid. Anything that could make a grown-up cry that loud must be very, very scary.</p><p>"Mommy, what's going on?" he asked, reaching out to her for comfort.</p><p>She crawled into the bed beside him and wrapped him up in her arms, careful not to tug at his PICC line. He felt her whole body sigh. She knew what happened, he could tell, but it seemed like she didn't want to tell him. "Today is a sad day," she eventually murmured.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Do you remember Logan from last time you were her?" Steve nodded. "Well, he's been very sick the past few days and today he passed away."</p><p>"He died?" Steve had heard the phrase 'pass away' before, but only in reference to old people. Never kids.</p><p>"Yes," she said solemnly.</p><p>"Why was he sick? Did he have CF too?"</p><p>"No, no. He had something called cancer."</p><p>"What's that?"</p><p>"It's when some cells, the little building blocks that make up your body, forget how to work right. So instead of helping your body they just keep making more and more bad cells just like them."</p><p>"Why can't they just take the bad cells out?"</p><p>"They tried to, but sometimes the bad cells can hide or they don't go away even when the medicine tries to make them."</p><p>"Is his family going to be okay?" Steve asked. Their cries still resounded down the hallway, filling it with palpable grief.</p><p>"They're going to be sad for a long time, Steve, but they'll be okay," she assured him.</p><p>"Is there any way we can help them?"</p><p>"Have you ever heard of a sympathy card?" she asked. Steve shook his head no. "It's like a thank you note, but instead of thanking someone for a gift they gave you you're letting them know that you're thinking of them during a hard time. Why don't you make one for them?"</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>Steve worked on his card for an hour, all thoughts of a nap gone in the face of an opportunity to help people who really needed it. Mommy helped him figure out what to write, and he personally gave it to Logan's parents. The smiles they gave him looked out of place on their drawn, tear-stained faces, and they hugged him long enough for him to grow uncomfortable. But Steve recognized that they needed this, since their own little boy wasn't here for them to hug anymore.</p><p>They weren't the only ones to miss Logan, though. All the nurses on the ward knew him, and their sadness at his passing was tangible. When he finally got to leave the hospital, Steve didn't talk about Logan. He wanted to leave the memory of those feelings at Gravesen. Besides, he hadn't even known the kid. Making friends at the hospital seemed like a bad idea if there was a chance they might die. Steve didn't know what he would do if one of his friends died.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Wheezy Smurf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welp, I've gotten distracted again. Despite still having two prequels and a sequel to finish, I started on an untitled Sarah Rogers-centric story in this universe. I don't know much about it at this stage, but there were some scenes from her perspective that I just had to get down on paper. We'll see where it goes. Maybe it'll become part of a spinoff with all the characters' mothers.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After that hospital stay, Steve met his new best friend—not actually, Bucky would forever and always be his best friend, but this came pretty close—the Afflovest. It did the same job as CPT without one of his parents having to work with him the entire time. All they had to do was set it up, something Steve soon learned how to do on his own, and leave him in it for thirty minutes while he deep breathed and coughed intermittently while also doing his inhaled medications. His parents loved it because it freed up an hour of their day, and Steve loved it because he could play, read, or watch TV while doing his breathing treatment instead of just lying there.</p>
<p>"I can do this all day," he declared joyously the first time he used it.</p>
<p>The amount of attention he received upon returning to school after the tune-up at Gravesen made him uncomfortable. The teacher made all the other kids say "welcome back" to him at the beginning of the day, and she checked in on him multiple times throughout the day to ask if he needed to take a break or anything. They didn't do naptime in kindergarten; Steve hadn't napped since he was a baby, but that's basically what she was offering him. He didn't know if his parents had requested she baby him all day or if she did it of her own accord, but he didn't like it. However, telling her to leave him alone would be rude, so he turned down her offers as politely as possible and got back to his work.</p>
<p>"Steve, where were you?" one of his classmates, a boy called Monty, asked him.</p>
<p>"Gravesen," he answered.</p>
<p>"What's that?"</p>
<p>Steve didn't want to answer. Talking about his CF at school set him apart from all the other kids, and he didn't want that. He just wanted to learn and play with everyone else, not have to explain his way of life to curious five-year-olds. Bucky cut in before Steve could stop him and informed Monty, "It's a hospital."</p>
<p>The kid's eyes went wide and his face fell. "Were you sick? Are you okay?"</p>
<p>"I'm fine," Steve insisted. He elbowed Bucky to get him to stop talking and hoped Monty's curiosity was satisfied, but he kept asking questions.</p>
<p>"Was it scary?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"What did they do there?"</p>
<p>"A lot of different things."</p>
<p>"Like what?"</p>
<p>"Give me medicine."</p>
<p>"Did it taste bad?"</p>
<p>"I didn't taste it. They put it in a tube in my arm."</p>
<p>"Whoa. Did it hurt?"</p>
<p>"No. Please stop asking me questions," Steve finally requested. Thinking about his stay in the hospital made him think about Logan, and that made him sad. He didn't want to be sad. Fortunately, Monty heeded his request and they got back to playing. Bucky told him all about his parents signing him up for soccer. Steve listened raptly because he loved when Bucky was excited, but he knew next to nothing about the sport and had no interest in it. He did, however, promise he would come to some of his games. By his second day of school, the novelty of his return from absence had worn off and things were back to normal.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>Steve loved gym almost as much as he loved art class. What kid wouldn't love running around playing games for an hour during an otherwise boring school day? Today, they were playing freeze tag. Steve had been back at school for almost an entire week, but his lungs were still junkier than usual. Running and other exercise helped loosen things up, so his doctors highly encouraged it.</p>
<p>Bucky and Steve were on the blue team, chasing around and trying to tag as many red team members as they could. They worked together to corner this kid named Jasper and Bucky moved in for the freeze. "Gotcha!" he called and the kid slowed to a grumpy stop.</p>
<p>"Nice work, Buck," Steve said, panting. They high-fived and ran off in search of more red jerseys to tag. Someone must have freed Jasper, because he came tearing after them a few moments later. Bucky and Steve split up and Jasper singled out Steve to chase down. As hard as he tried, he couldn't outrun the kid. His hand tapped Steve's shoulder, so he stopped and stood to wait for a teammate to unfreeze him. However, Jasper didn't run off, but remained to guard him and prevent rescue. All the running must have loosened some mucus in his lungs, because Steve doubled over coughing. Jasper stared at him like he'd caught fire, and shrieked, "Gross!" when Steve spit a glob into the grass. He ran off, leaving Steve alone in the middle of the field, face burning with shame.</p>
<p>Bucky soon freed him, but Steve's heart wasn't in it for the rest of the game. After class, he caught a glimpse of Jasper whispering to his friend Alex and pointing at Steve. It hadn't even been a very productive cough compared to some from during his vest treatments. He wondered how Jasper would react if he saw <em>that</em>. Neither Jasper nor Alex confronted or teased him about the incident, but they continually shot him funny looks from across the classroom. Steve really tried to ignore them, but it was hard, and it only got harder the longer it went on.</p>
<p>Things escalated a few weeks later. By this point, Bucky knew, but only Bucky. Steve didn't trust anybody else with this information. Alex had introduced a third companion, some kid named Brock, to his new favorite hobby of targeting Steve during games in gym. It all came to a head at recess one day. Steve and Bucky were minding their own business, kicking a ball back and forth, when Bucky missed the return and the ball rolled over onto the playground. Steve ran after it and didn't realize who he'd approached until the kid dropped from the monkey bars right in front of him. He straightened up with the ball in his hands and found himself facing Alex, Jasper, and Brock. Bucky noticed his predicament and ran over, standing just beside Steve with his fists clenched.</p>
<p>"Watch it, Wheezy Smurf," Alex growled.</p>
<p>"Hey!" Bucky shot back. Steve silently fumed. "Leave him alone."</p>
<p>"He came over to us," Jasper pointed out.</p>
<p>"And now we're leaving." Bucky grabbed Steve by the arm to drag him away, and he almost succeeded.</p>
<p>"Take good care of him, Mama Smurf," Alex called after them, and Steve's vision went red. He dropped the ball, whirled around, and punched the kid right in the chest. Alex was too shocked to even react, but Jasper immediately dashed off to the nearest adult. Steve paid no attention to him reporting the incident, though he distantly recognized that he would definitely get in trouble for what he'd just done. He half expected Alex to retaliate with a punch of his own, but they just stood there, eyes locked.</p>
<p>"What's going on?" the teacher Jasper dragged over asked.</p>
<p>"He hit me," Alex stated, pointing an accusatory finger at Steve.</p>
<p>"No, that's not true!" Bucky insisted. Steve broke off his staring contest with Alex and turned to Bucky. What was he saying? They couldn't <em>lie</em> to the teacher.</p>
<p>"Then what did happen?"</p>
<p>"I did it," Bucky avowed.</p>
<p>"No—" Steve began, but Bucky stepped in front of him and repeated that he had punched Alex.</p>
<p>"Why did you do that?" she asked.</p>
<p>"He was calling us names," Bucky explained.</p>
<p>"Is this true?" She turned to Alex and his friends.</p>
<p>"No," Alex tried to say, but Bucky and Steve insisted that he was lying. The teacher looked sternly between the five of them, but she only dragged off Alex and Bucky. Jasper and Brock glared at Steve once they'd gone, but didn't say a word. Steve wandered back towards the school and sat down against the brick wall, wondering why Bucky had taken the blame for him. Neither of them returned to recess, so Steve walked to the nurse to take his enzymes alone.</p>
<p>"Where's Bucky?" she asked him.</p>
<p>"He got in trouble," Steve explained.</p>
<p>"Oh dear."</p>
<p>"But he didn't do it."</p>
<p>"Is that so?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>Bucky and Alex arrived at lunch ten minutes late. The principal made phone calls home to both of their families, and Bucky was afraid of the punishment his mother would inflict on him. "Why did you lie?" Steve asked.</p>
<p>"Because it's not fair for you to get in trouble when Alex was the one being mean to you."</p>
<p>"But you got in trouble. That's not fair either."</p>
<p>"I'd rather it be me than you."</p>
<p>Steve's heart glowed. Even three cruel kids couldn't hurt him inside when he had one friend as amazing as Bucky.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>That night before dinner, when Mom asked Steve to go do his treatment, he said no. "I'm so tired of doing this all the time, when do I get to stop?" Steve didn't know where the sentiment came from, but the incident at recess had haunted him all day. <em>Wheezy Smurf</em>. Was that how all the other kids at school saw him?</p>
<p>"Steve, we've had this conversation," she sighed. "Come here." The invitation for physical comfort was impossible to resist, and Steve dove into her arms. She guided him to take a seat at the kitchen table, and she sat down across from him. Steve stared at his lap, unwilling to meet her eye. "I know it's no fun, but the treatments are what keep you healthy."</p>
<p>"I know that, but nobody else has to do this," he whined.</p>
<p>"There are other kids with CF," she reminded him.</p>
<p>"How come I don't <em>know</em> any?"</p>
<p>"Because it's a rare mutation. There are lots of rare diseases that only affect a small amount of people, but that doesn't make them any less important to those people who do have to deal with them."</p>
<p>"But why do <em>I</em> have to deal with this one?"</p>
<p>"Steve, it's nobody's fault. Sometimes these things just happen. There was a misprint in your DNA, the code that tells your body how to work, and nobody could have fixed it. This is just the way you were made, and we have to do whatever we can to live life and keep you healthy despite that."</p>
<p>"Okay," he accepted grimly. This wasn't the first time they'd had a conversation like this, and intrinsically Steve understood that he couldn't skip treatments or he risked getting really sick and having to go back to Gravesen. But there were some days like today when he spent more time wondering why he couldn't have been born normal.</p>
<p>Mom supervised while he poured his medicine into the nebulizer and started up the vest. He'd been doing it all by himself for a few weeks now, and it helped him feel more in control. She set the timer for thirty minutes and let him draw at the kitchen table while she helped Dad cook dinner. Steve drew without really thinking, his pencil in his right hand and the nebulizer in his left. He ended up with a picture of him and Bucky both doing treatments. That would never happen in real life because Bucky didn't have CF, but a part of Steve wondered if he'd be happier to have a friend who could sympathize with everything he went through.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>Steve's dad was spending the afternoon with his old army buddies, which meant Steve got to go home from school with Bucky and stay at his place until Mom got off work. As often as they visited each other, his excitement for going to Bucky's never waned. They walked through the front door and immediately tore off to Bucky's room, anxious to continue a version of the game they'd been playing at school that day.</p>
<p>Mrs. Barnes interrupted them a few minutes in to invite them into the kitchen for a snack. Bucky was eager, but Steve's heart sank with a devastating realization: he didn't have any enzymes. Bucky's mom laid out some cheese and crackers, and Steve stood paralyzed by the table while Bucky sat down and dug in.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Barnes, I can't eat without my enzymes," Steve said timidly.</p>
<p>"Oh, of course. I almost forgot," she exclaimed. After digging around in the cabinet, she produced a familiar bottle. "Your mom gave me these to keep in the house for when you come over. Do you know how many you need to take?"</p>
<p>"Yeah!" Steve said. He couldn't believe his mom had thought so far ahead, but boy was he glad she had. Mrs. Barnes opened the bottle for him, and he downed the capsules with a swallow of water before joining Bucky. They were so eager to get back to playing that Steve probably didn't eat as much as he should have, but his parents weren't there to make him eat more so he didn't really care. Besides, they were a lot more relaxed about that sort of thing now that he had his g-tube.</p>
<p>Since the weather was nice, Mrs. Barnes took them to a nearby park to run around and "burn off their incessant energy." Bucky brought his soccer ball, which was easily his favorite thing in the entire world, and they took turns guarding this one tree from the other's shots. Steve wasn't nearly as good at it as Bucky, but he enjoyed himself nonetheless. They tired themselves out after an hour and sat down in the shade of the tree. A big fluffy dog ran past them, chasing after a tennis ball. Instead of bringing it back to his owner, the dog flopped down in the grass and started chewing on it.</p>
<p>Bucky's eyes lit up and he looked around for the owner. She walked over from where she'd thrown the ball and sat down beside her dog. "Can I pet him?" Bucky asked eagerly.</p>
<p>"Sure," the woman said. "Let him sniff you first."</p>
<p>Steve watched warily as the dog sniffed at Bucky's hand and returned to happily chewing his tennis ball. Bucky slowly ran his hand through the fur on the dog's shoulder and smiled. "Steve, he's really soft!"</p>
<p>"That's cool," Steve said.</p>
<p>"You can come pet him too if you want," the woman said kindly.</p>
<p>Steve knew he shouldn't. He'd been lectured about his allergies almost as often as he'd been lectured about his CF. But Bucky looked like he was having so much fun and the dog's fur did look really soft. He edged forward and let the dog sniff him too, even lick his hand. Steve carefully pet the dog's other shoulder, marveling at the silkiness of its fur.</p>
<p>"Steve, what are you doing?" came Mrs. Barnes' voice. She sounded panicked. Steve instantly stopped what he was doing and backed away from the dog. The woman looked confused as to why he'd been scolded for petting her dog. Mrs. Barnes closed the distance and dragged Steve even farther away. She looked him up and down as if searching for bite marks and said, "You know you can't do things like this."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," he said, and the words were followed by a crackling wheeze.</p>
<p>"Shit," Mrs. Barnes muttered. The tone of her voice alerted Bucky, who stopped petting the dog long enough to look up at Steve and recognize what was going on. "I don't have his inhaler," she muttered. "Stupid, why didn't I ask Sarah to give me one of those to keep on me?"</p>
<p>Steve's chest tightened up as if a huge snake wrapped around it and started constricting him. "Should I call 9-1-1?" the woman with the dog asked. Mrs. Barnes took another look at Steve and nodded her head grimly. The Rogers had told her the story of his first severe asthma attack, so she knew just how bad this could get. Between the feeling in his lungs and the look on her face, Steve's fear grew exponentially. He tried to control it and deep breathe like his therapists had taught him, but he couldn't seem to open his airways enough to get any air in. Bucky and Steve both started crying at the same time, but Steve's tears fell silently because his vocal cords wouldn't work without enough air to pass between them.</p>
<p>At some point, he descended from standing to sitting on the grass, Mrs. Barnes behind him preventing him from entirely flopping over. Distant sirens grew louder as Steve's head grew fuzzier. Unfamiliar voices started shouting and heading in their direction, and Mrs. Barnes called back to them. She ran a hand through his hair and whispered something in his ear, but Steve couldn't hear her. People who must have been paramedics swarmed them, and Mrs. Barnes, his only source of comfort, was ripped away. Steve tried to cry out, but the only sound that came out was a rasping wheeze. Black spots danced on the edges of his vision and he picked up on distant bits and pieces of the voices telling him to keep breathing and stay with them. They drifted in and out of focus until Steve felt the familiar sensation of a nebulizer pressed against his face and blacked out completely.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'll say it louder for the people in the back: Big. Pre-serum. Steve. Energy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fear and Friendship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since I left you on a cliffhanger and am making decent headway in the other work I need to get done, I guess you can have a bonus chapter. Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve woke up in the hospital with the mask still pressed against his face. In his confusion, he forgot about what happened in the park and wondered why he was here doing treatment without his vest. The obvious distress on his parents' faces reminded him. Dad noticed his open eyes and raced over to hold his hand. Mom took up his other one, careful not to jostle the pulse oximeter clipped onto his finger. He wanted to talk, but his chest hurt so badly he decided against it.</p><p>"Hey buddy. You're okay," Dad assured. Steve certainly didn't feel okay, but for obvious reasons he didn't argue.</p><p>"When you're better we're going to have a serious conversation about avoiding triggers, okay?" Mom said sternly. Steve knew he made the wrong decision by petting the dog, but Bucky was enjoying it so much, and he just wanted to participate. He should have realized it wouldn't be worth it.</p><p>"Bucky's parents are both going to be keeping inhalers on them from now on, so if this happens again, you can go to them, got it?"</p><p>Steve nodded weakly. The Barnes were practically his aunt and uncle or a second set of parents. From the moment they first met, the two families were more like one. He trusted Bucky's parents to take care of him, and that's exactly what Mrs. Barnes had done. If it weren't for her and the woman with the dog who called the ambulance, Steve might've required intubation, or maybe even died. He promised never again to let himself be tempted by animals, no matter how fluffy they looked.</p><p>The doctors kept him in the hospital for a very boring four days. Breathing was hard and moving was hard and doing treatments, which he still had to do of course, was even harder. Mom had to hold the nebulizer up for him, he was so exhausted. For the first two of those days, he had to wear a cannula delivering extra oxygen to keep his sats up, and it irritated him to no end. When they were finally convinced he wouldn't suddenly go into respiratory failure, they let him go home. There was a long discussion about altering his daily medication that Steve paid zero attention to, but ultimately they let him off with a dire warning to avoid triggers because he had no asthma symptoms unless he encountered a dog or cat. Any dreams Steve had of one day getting a pet were crushed to a pulp, but he didn't really care that much. He was just happy to feel better.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve awoke from an afternoon nap on his first full day home from the hospital. He didn't normally nap, but his lungs were still recovering so even breathing tired him out. He opened his bedroom door and started for the kitchen, but stopped halfway because he heard voices: his mom and Mrs. Barnes. If they knew he was listening they might stop talking, so he stayed out of sight. From their tone, he guessed it was something serious.</p><p>"I should've been watching more carefully. It just happened so fast," Mrs. Barnes sighed.</p><p>"Nobody blames you. And you did everything you could to help him afterwards, and he's fine. He's going back to school on Monday," Mom explained. Steve now understood the discussion was about <em>him</em>.</p><p>"That's good. I don't think I could live with myself if things turned out any worse."</p><p>Mom paused. Steve could picture the expression on her face, one she'd given him on multiple occasions when he asked difficult questions or got upset over having to go to clinic or do treatments. "How's Bucky handling it?" she eventually asked.</p><p>"That's another reason I came. He's really shaken. I haven't sent him to school since it happened because he's not sleeping. He's come into our room every night crying over bad dreams."</p><p>"I'm so sorry to hear that. Do you think it would help if he came over, to see for himself that Steve's okay now?"</p><p>"I thought it would, that's why I called asking to visit the hospital the other day, but when I told him we were going he threw a tantrum and refused."</p><p>"Oh dear. Do you have any idea why he was against it?"</p><p>"I think he's just scared. When we visited last time Steve was at Gravesen, I think it rattled him. On the ride home he kept asking why Steve was there, what the tubes were for, and when he could come back to school. I don't think he wanted to see him like that again."</p><p>"That's understandable. It's a lot for a kid their age to make sense of, and it is scary. Would you like to bring Bucky here to visit later today? That might help."</p><p>"I finally got him to go to sleep, but maybe when he wakes up. Thank you, Sarah. I really needed this."</p><p>"Any time."</p><p>"Tell Steve I send my best."</p><p>"I will. Thank you." The conversation stopped, and Steve heard footsteps heading for the door. Mom must have shown Mrs. Barnes out, because the door opened and closed. He chose that moment to reveal himself. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked, startled.</p><p>"Only a little bit," Steve muttered. He sensed he might get in trouble if she knew he'd been listening to a private conversation, but his worries about Bucky overpowered that. "Is Bucky really…scared of me?" he asked, lip trembling.</p><p>"No, buddy, he's not scared of you," she assured. Her arms encircled him and Steve started crying into her shirt. "He's just scared because he's worried about you. He wants you to be okay. We all do."</p><p>"I—I want to be okay too, b-but I can't control when I'm not. And I don't want to make people scared all the time."</p><p>Mom rubbed his back to ease his sobs. "This is why we do all your treatments and medicines. It's something we can control to try and make sure you're okay as much as we can. And it's why we have to be super duper careful with dogs and cats, okay?"</p><p>"Okay," Steve sniffled.</p><p>"How are you feeling, did the nap help?"</p><p>"Yeah. 'M less tired."</p><p>"That's good. You hungry?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Well, I think you should try and eat a snack anyway. We've got to get you back to eating normally."</p><p>"Okay," he sighed. Mom told him to have one of his supplement drinks, so he grabbed one out of the fridge and a straw from the drawer. They were always more fun with straws. He took his enzymes and sat down at the kitchen table with some crayons, periodically sipping from the straw. Steve drew the dog from the park, with himself standing on the opposite side of the page. Then, he added Bucky petting the dog because he didn't have to follow the same rules as Steve and he should play with all the dogs he wanted to.</p><p>Mrs. Barnes returned later that day, accompanied by Bucky. Instead of bounding into the Rogers' apartment like he usually did when he visited, he hid behind his mother's leg. Steve, eager to see his best friend after several days apart, followed Mom to answer the door and grew ashamed at the sight of Bucky hiding from him.</p><p>"Hi Bucky," he said hesitantly.</p><p>"Steve?" Bucky half stepped out from behind his mom and looked at Steve like he might burst into flames.</p><p>"Do you want to come in?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded slightly. Mrs. Barnes walked inside, Bucky still clinging to her like a koala. Steve didn't know what to do to assuage Bucky's fear. He didn't still look sick enough to be frightening, did he?</p><p>"I'm sorry," Bucky mumbled, so quiet it was almost inaudible, and fixed his gaze on his shoes.</p><p>"You have nothing to be sorry for," Mom assured him. Mrs. Barnes ran a hand through his hair, but he still wouldn't look up.</p><p>"Why don't you ask Steve if he's feeling better?" Mrs. Barnes suggested. Bucky repeated the question in a hushed whisper directed at the floor between his and Steve's feet.</p><p>"Yeah. I'm all better now," Steve informed him. Then he added, "I missed you. Will you play with me?"</p><p>Bucky hesitated. "Go on," his mother urged. Reluctantly, he tore himself away from his mom and followed Steve to his room. Steve wasn't used to silence from Bucky. He was usually even chattier than Steve, eager to share stories of his latest triumphs at soccer or some grown-up show he'd glimpsed a few minutes of before his dad noticed he was there and changed the channel. Steve grabbed their favorite blocks and cars and started building a tower. He hoped Bucky would eventually join in, but he just sat there forlornly holding Steve's toy ambulance. Determined to get him to open up, Steve mindlessly talked about what he was building. Anything to get his friend's mind off what was so clearly bothering him.</p><p>Bucky interrupted Steve's rambling with a harsh statement, "I thought you died."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Steve, it was so, so scary." He sounded close to tears. "I've never heard sirens that close up before, and they're way louder than I thought. Your lips turned blue. The people came and started shouting and doing things to you. You fell asleep and they tried to get you to wake up, but you <em>wouldn't</em>. And then they carried you away and I thought you died."</p><p>Steve's own memory of the incident was hazy. He remembered the sound of sirens and the terrifying sensation of not being able to breathe, but not much else. What the incident looked like from another person's point of view had never crossed his mind, but now he understood why Bucky was so scared. The way he described it made Steve even more afraid of something like that happening again.</p><p>"I didn't die," he said, for lack of anything better to say.</p><p>"I know. And I'm really happy you didn't. That would be sad."</p><p>"Yeah." Steve remembered when Logan died and how sad everyone at the hospital had been. He never wanted Bucky to be that sad, especially if Steve was the reason. "I'm gonna be super careful so I don't scare anybody like that again."</p><p>"That's good. I can be super careful too and stay away from animals in the park."</p><p>"You don't have to do that," Steve insisted. "As long as I stay away I'll be okay. You can play with dogs if you want to."</p><p>"But I don't want to if you can't," Bucky retorted.</p><p>"Thanks. That's really nice."</p><p>"You're my friend. I should be nice to you."</p><p>"Yes, you should," Steve stated. "You know what would be really nice?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Help me finish this tower so we can knock it down."</p><p>"Okay!"</p><p>~0~</p><p>"Wakey wakey, time for shakies!" That was how Dad got him out of bed every morning before school, and today was his first day back since his discharge from the hospital. Steve's morning routine was highly regimented and extensive, but it was so normal for him that he did it on autopilot the same way most people brushed their teeth. Mom or Dad always at least supervised, if not helped, but he knew how to do so much of it by himself that he didn't really need them. He disconnected from Roger and flushed his g-tube before closing the button and cleaning the site around the tube. While Dad washed out the bag and all the tubing, Steve did his inhaled medications and his vest for thirty minutes. Beyond that, everything was standard before-school stuff: eat breakfast (with enzymes and his other morning pills first), double check that his backpack was fully packed, brush teeth, and head out the door.</p><p>He was excited to be back after missing out on so much while he was at the hospital. That excitement winked out when he saw the way Alex looked at him. The boy looked downright <em>disappointed</em> that Steve had returned. He didn't say anything to Steve the whole day, just stuck to playing and working with Jasper and Brock, but he kept looking at him. Steve didn't know if any of his classmates besides Bucky knew what happened to him, but Alex proved his knowledge of the event later that day. He dropped a stuffed dog on the table in front of Steve during free play and stood back as if waiting for an explosion.</p><p>Steve looked between the dog and Alex, wondering what he'd thought would happen. "Thank you," he chirped, picking up the toy and snuggling it like it was a genuine gift. That obviously wasn't the reaction Alex had been hoping for. He stormed off to the other side of the classroom to commiserate with his friends over his failure to upset Steve.</p><p>"Look what Alex gave me," Steve said to Bucky, showing off the dog.</p><p>"Why'd he do that?"</p><p>"I don't know. Maybe he was trying to scare me."</p><p>"Are you scared of dogs? After…what happened?" Bucky asked.</p><p>"No. Dogs aren't scary, but asthma is. Just because I have to stay away doesn't mean I'm scared."</p><p>"That's good. But Alex being mean to you is not good."</p><p>"He just doesn't like me. I don't know why."</p><p>"He's a moron."</p><p>"What does that mean?" Steve had never heard the word before.</p><p>"It means he's stupid."</p><p>"Bucky! That's not a nice word."</p><p>"I know. But anyone who doesn't like you is stupid."</p><p>"Thanks," Steve said. Hearing his best friend defend him canceled out any negativity that Alex's words and actions put into his mind. He understood that Alex, Jasper, and Brock were mean to him because they wanted to make him sad for some reason, and he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of succeeding.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Maybes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've said it once, and I'll say it again. I love baby Steve. Also: Sarah Rogers' A+ parenting for the win :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mom, I need a picture of me for school," Steve said. He'd just started first grade, and his teacher wanted all of the students to bring in a photo for her to make a collage. Bucky had taken less than five seconds to decide he wanted to use one from his soccer team, but Steve didn't even know where to start. He knew his mom kept family photo albums, but beyond smiling whenever she or Dad told him to he didn't pay much attention to which milestones she photographed.</p><p>"We can look through the albums after dinner if you want," she suggested.</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>Steve underestimated just how many albums she'd made over the years. Some must have been from before he was born because he was only seven and there was no way anyone could take that many photos in seven years. She hefted a stack of them out of the cabinet and handed some to him to look through. The first one he opened began with his first day of kindergarten. Both his and Bucky's mom had taken countless photos of them with their brand new backpacks. He hadn't really thought about it that much before, but now that he looked at the two of them right beside each other he realized just how much smaller and skinnier he was than Bucky. His head barely reached Bucky's shoulder. In the past year, he'd gained on Bucky a little bit, but still remained significantly smaller than him and most of their peers.</p><p>"I was so little," he remarked, pointing out the picture to his mom.</p><p>"Not as little as you were here," she replied. The album she'd opened contained his baby pictures. "That nebulizer covered your whole little face. It was so <em>cute</em>." Steve glanced at the page and smiled at the sight of his baby self doing a breathing treatment. CF really had been a part of his life for its entirety. He flipped through some more from the beginning of kindergarten until he reached a set of photos that he didn't even know had been taken. The first showed him fast asleep in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and monitoring. His eyes were red and tear tracks still glistened on his cheeks, a stark juxtaposition to the puppy-patterned hospital gown he wore. Mom usually documented happy, fun moments, but from what Steve remembered this day was neither.</p><p>"Why did you take this one?" he asked.</p><p>"It was a special day and I wanted to remember it in detail," she explained.</p><p>"I don't think it was very special. It was scary, and it hurt," Steve countered.</p><p>"Well, can I tell you why <em>I</em> think it was special?"</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"That was the day I learned my son is the bravest little boy I know."</p><p>"How was I brave if I was crying?"</p><p>"Everyone cries when scary things happen. What makes you brave is when you stop crying and move forward, and that's exactly what you did."</p><p>Steve rather liked that explanation, and a flickering sense of pride swelled within him. "Even though it was a bad day, I'm happy I did it," he conceded.</p><p>"Yeah? Why is that?"</p><p>"Because you were right about it making me feel better and making me grow. I'm not as much smaller than Bucky as I used to be."</p><p>"I'm glad you think it was the right decision."</p><p>Steve flipped through a few more pages of pictures from after that surgery before he got back to regular ones. None of them seemed right to give to his teacher. Most of them had Bucky in them too, but he needed one with just him. Steve reached the end of the album and grabbed the next one. That didn't offer any winners either. A good majority of them were just him sitting in the waiting room at clinic with a face mask on.</p><p>"How about this one?" Mom asked. "This is one of my favorite pictures of you." She tilted the album and showed Steve a picture of him wearing his Afflovest for the first time. He remembered this moment, being simultaneously startled and tickled by the shaking sensation. When Dad turned it off, he'd just giggled and gave a silly thumbs-up; that was the moment captured in the photograph. Steve liked it, but he didn't know if he wanted his teacher and his whole class to see it.</p><p>"Can't we find one where I look normal?" he questioned.</p><p>Mom's face fell. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"The vest is a CF thing." Steve shrugged.</p><p>"That doesn't mean it's not normal, Steve. Besides, normal is a stupid word."</p><p>"Mommy, you said stupid!" He'd been warned not to say that word because it wasn't nice.</p><p>"Yes, I did say stupid because I meant it. I don't like the word normal. I don't think it really means anything."</p><p>"Yes it does," Steve insisted. "Normal is what everyone does."</p><p>"But everyone does different things, buddy. Not everybody is a nurse, but I am. Does that make me not normal?"</p><p>"No…"</p><p>"Exactly. Not everybody plays soccer, but Bucky does. Does that make him not normal?"</p><p>Steve started to see where she was going with this. He shook his head no.</p><p>"Not everybody has CF, but you do. That doesn't make you not normal. But the way you handle it, how brave you are every single day, that makes you really special. And I think special is a much better word than normal."</p><p>"Me too."</p><p>The next day, Steve handed his teacher the Afflovest picture with a proud smile on his face.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve and his family were as careful as they could be every flu season, washing their hands well and often, screening visitors to their home for cold symptoms, and sanitizing surfaces often. Despite this, bugs inevitably slipped through their defenses and wrapped vulnerable Steve in their vile clutches. The throat culture from his most recent clinic visit showed new bacteria. He'd gotten sick before, but this time instead of just taking root in his lungs it morphed into a sinus infection.</p><p>Steve's new least favorite part of the day quickly became nasal irrigation. Mom or Dad filled a squeezy bottle with sterile saline and squirted it up one of his nostrils, letting it drip out of the other to try and wash the infection out. Then they repeated it with the other nostril. It felt like accidentally getting water up his nose at the pool, a sensation he despised. As much as he hated it; it did help clear out his sinuses, and his junky cough regained its position as his number one complaint. In the wintertime, he often wasn't the only kid at school with a cough, which made him a little less self conscious.</p><p>When he reported that a few of his classmates had colds, Mom almost forced him to wear a face mask at school so he wouldn't catch their germs, but Steve fought her on that so fiercely that she gave up and just told him to stay far away from them and wash his hands even more. The last thing he needed was something to make people stare at him. Fortunately, only Jasper was in his first grade class, so he only had to worry about encountering Alex and Brock at recess. Steve, Bucky, and Bucky's friend Gabe from soccer were too big a group for Jasper to confront all by himself.</p><p>Then, only a few weeks after the first one resolved, Steve contracted another sinus infection which took even longer to clear up than the first. He was miserable all the time, but he downplayed his symptoms so he could still go to school. Steve understood that sometimes missing school for CF was unavoidable, so he was determined to attend as many days as possible if he had even the barest of energy reserves to make it through the day. Classwork and spending time with Bucky distracted him from the ache in his face and head, and he didn't really notice how bad he felt until he got home after school and the day's expenditures caught up with him.</p><p>"Daddy, tell me one of your army days stories," Steve requested one night. He loved listening to them more than anything, but his dad was frugal with how often he told them, choosing to save them for days when Steve was under the weather. Today was one of those days. It was a Friday, and he'd gone to school every day that week at his own insistence. However, his lungs and nose felt so junky that he'd requested an additional treatment because he could breathe easier with the Albuterol running. He was so exhausted he could barely hold the nebulizer up.</p><p>"Okay," Dad agreed. "Have I ever told you about the training exercise in North Carolina?" Steve shook his head, already perking up at the prospect of a brand new story. "Well, I was sent on a four-week training exercise with some of my buddies. It was like a really long camping trip. We lived in the wilderness and carried everything we had on our backs every day when we moved sites. I'll bet it was the heaviest backpack I've ever carried, and I've carried some heavy packs in my life.</p><p>"Anyway, we were hungry one night, but we'd already eaten our rations for the day. Someone suggested we go hunting, so a couple of us headed out into the dark in search of an animal we could eat. Can you guess what we found?"</p><p>Steve shook his head.</p><p>"A raccoon. We skinned him, cooked him, and shared him between us."</p><p>"What did it taste like?" Steve asked, pulling back the mask just long enough to talk. With the vest on, his voice shook with every word, but he couldn't skip asking about the taste of raccoon.</p><p>"It tasted like nothing either of us has ever eaten. But all the boys were so hungry they said it was their new favorite kind of meat." The timer went off, so Dad shut off the machines and Steve set the vest and nebulizer aside. Together they set up his tube feed for the night, and Steve crawled into bed, completely exhausted from another day of being sick.</p><p>"When I grow up, I want to be in the army and go on adventures like you did," he proclaimed. Dad didn't respond immediately. He got this really faraway look in his eyes, and when he kissed Steve's forehead he lingered far longer than he normally did.</p><p>"Good night." He turned out the lights and closed the door, leaving Steve alone to puzzle over why he didn't respond. But he failed to find a reason before he fell asleep.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Oral antibiotics and lots of extra treatments helped him turn a corner by mid-March and Steve escaped an inpatient stay that year. It was his proudest accomplishment, followed closely by a project he created in art class that his teacher chose for the school showcase. Out of all the pieces in his whole grade, they picked Steve's. The students had been tasked with drawing a self-portrait, and Steve chose to include his vest and his pole Roger in the background, because they were just as much a crucial part of him as his eyes, ears, and nose were. He also added a little purple ribbon in the bottom right corner under his name, just like the one Mom wore on her scrubs when she worked. Purple was the color for CF, and the art showcase fell in May, which also happened to be cystic fibrosis awareness month.</p><p>May was Steve's favorite month of the year. During May was the only time he saw commercials on TV that encouraged people to donate to research for CF, research that might prolong his life or even drastically improve its quality. Those same commercials featured kids like him. He got to see their faces and hear their voices and know for certain that he wasn't the only one. They were all equally desperate for a cure.</p><p>"When they find a cure for cystic fibrosis, then can I join the army?" he asked Dad. Steve knew now that in his current state he couldn't follow in his father's footsteps. A few days after the initial event, he'd repeated his desire to be a soldier and his parents sat him down for one of their 'talks.' They took on the same body language and tone as they did when they broke the news that he'd have to go into the hospital. Dad explained that the army had rules about who could join, and that anybody who relied on regular medication didn't qualify. They wanted all their soldiers to be healthy, and sometimes it wasn't possible to keep up with treatments or medicines while deployed.</p><p>Steve cried when he learned this information. For as long as he'd known what the US army was, he'd wanted to be a part of it just like his dad. He'd wept and screamed, "It's not fair!" while his parents tried futilely to calm him down. Ultimately, his sobs only quieted when he exhausted himself. "I know it's not fair, and I'm so sorry," Mom had said, running her fingers lovingly through his hair. "But there are so many jobs out there, so many different ways for you to make a difference in the world, and I know you'll find the one that's right for you." A few days after that, Dad bought him a present: one of those posters of Uncle Sam proclaiming "I want you!" that they used to recruit soldiers during World War II.</p><p>"They do want you, Steve," he'd explained. "It's a bummer that they can't have you, but every time you look at this poster I want you to know that, even though you can't show it in the same way as others, you are worthy."</p><p>"I am worthy," Steve had repeated. Now, during May, he looked at that poster and wondered when the day would come that he could be just like everybody else. That's what led him to ask Dad if he could join the army when they cured cystic fibrosis.</p><p>Dad looked at him fondly, but with a hint of sadness, and said, "I can't promise you anything, Steve. I don't know what the future holds, so the best I can give you is a maybe. If they find a cure for cystic fibrosis, maybe you can join the army."</p><p>Steve could work with a maybe. Maybes left room for hope.</p><p>~0~</p><p>No parent would ever wish for a sick child, but Sarah Rogers was better equipped than most to handle the physical and emotional strain that came with the role. She worked as a nurse—not at Gravesen, but another nearby hospital—and therefore already knew how to do many of the things Steve's daily care required. Anything she hadn't learned in nursing school she picked up on easily when a member of Steve's treatment team taught her and Dad. She'd also mastered the art of the difficult conversation. Steve knew that Mom would always know what to say to make him feel better after a bad day or a less-than-ideal clinic visit. Most days Steve coped fine, but occasionally the unfairness of his condition really caught up to him.</p><p>"Why don't we ever go on vacation?" he asked one day towards the end of the school year. Bucky had been rambling all day about the trip to the beach his parents had planned for that summer.</p><p>"Vacations are a lot of work," Mom explained.</p><p>"I thought vacations were for relaxing?"</p><p>"Well, yes, but planning them is a lot of work."</p><p>"Mr. and Mrs. Barnes do it all the time," Steve countered. "They went to Wisconsin for Christmas and they're going to North Carolina in the summer."</p><p>"They were visiting family in Wisconsin, I'm not sure that counts as a vacation."</p><p>"It's going somewhere different. We never go anywhere different."</p><p>"Steve, every family's different," she sighed. "Not everyone goes on vacation."</p><p>"Why can't we be a family that does go? I get bored during summer when Bucky's not here."</p><p>"I know, buddy, but it's just hard. I'd have to take off work—"</p><p>"You took off work for my surgery," Steve pointed out. "So it can't be that hard." She looked at him with a combination of frustration and wonder. Steve knew he had her cornered. "You should be able to take off for fun, too. Unless your boss is mean."</p><p>"No, Steve, my boss is not mean," she assured him warmly.</p><p>"So he'd let you go on vacation?"</p><p>"If I gave him enough warning, then probably. But there's more to planning a vacation than organizing days off work."</p><p>"Then I'll help you," he offered.</p><p>"That's sweet, but this is something your dad and I have to think a lot about, okay?" She walked over to look at the calendar on the wall and noticed writing in today's square. "Hey buddy, when was the last time you ate?"</p><p>"Umm, I had a snack after school," Steve answered. He couldn't read the note from this far away, but he could guess what it said. And he didn't like it.</p><p>"We've gotta change your tube today, can you go get the kit and meet me in your room?"</p><p>"I don't want to. Do we have to?"</p><p>"It's been six months, Steve, waiting any longer could be dangerous. I'm genuinely surprised it's survived this long, they're built to last three to six months and none of your others have made it past five. Hopefully the next one will be just as sturdy."</p><p>"Okay," Steve grumbled. He dug through the closet to find the replacement kit and brought it into his room. They'd done this every three to six months since he got it, just one of many chores that made up parts of his life. Mom came in with a bottle of water and freshly-washed hands, promising they'd get it over with quickly.</p><p>"Do you remember what we have to do first?" she asked.</p><p>"Make sure the new one doesn't leak," Steve replied. This was his favorite part. If he washed his hands too, Mom let him use the syringe to fill the little balloon on the new tube with water to check for leakage. It swelled up like a bubble, then went back down when she pulled the water back out.</p><p>"See any leaks?"</p><p>Steve shook his head. Mom set the syringe aside and opened a packet of lubricant onto a gauze pad, coating the new tube in it. One time when Dad had to put in his g-tube because it fell out while Mom was at work, he'd forgotten this step at first and tried to fit an unlubricated tube through his stoma. Steve did not enjoy the experience.</p><p>"Can we keep talking about vacation to distract me?" he requested. Thinking about the short period between the removal of the old tube and insertion of the new one, when there was just an open hole between his stomach and the outside world, made Steve's skin crawl.</p><p>"Sure. Lie down, close your eyes, and think about where you'd want to go," she instructed. Steve obeyed, trying to picture the perfect place for a vacation. Mom sucked the water out of his current tube with another syringe and pulled it out, immediately covering the site with a square of gauze. A vision of sand and sea like Bucky had described to him entered his head.</p><p>"I'd want to go to the beach," Steve stated. He'd been swimming in pools before, and the ocean sounded like an even cooler place for that.</p><p>"Oh yeah?" The new tube went in, secured by blowing up the balloon with the right amount of water. Mom warned him before twisting and pulling gently to make sure it was secured. All that remained was to wipe up excess lubricant and check for stomach juice to ensure the tube was in the right place and working properly.</p><p>"Yeah. I've never built a sandcastle before." He watched Mom attach the extension and an empty syringe to his new button and pull back. Steve recognized the liquid that appeared and knew she'd done it right.</p><p>"Dad and I will think about it," Mom told him. She emptied the syringe and disconnected everything, closing his button. "All done," she announced. "Thanks for being so patient."</p><p>"You're welcome. Can my reward be going on vacation?" he asked with a devious smile.</p><p>"I said we'll think about it. We'll let you know when we figure something out."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Six Feet Apart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As of yesterday, the sequel reached equal length to Gravesen. Seeing as there's still no end in sight, I can safely say we're on track for a story that's a decent bit longer. I also want to take this opportunity to talk a little bit about the format that this sequel will take, because it's going to be very different than Gravesen. That story told the events almost exclusively from Tony's perspective, with the occasional deviation to another character's POV. The sequel will be the complete opposite, covering all POVs as these characters move through their lives. It's difficult for me to explain (even more difficult for me to actually execute because I'm trying to keep track of ten interweaving timelines) but I promise it will be presented in an order that makes sense for the story. I'll share more details as we actually get closer to the sequel premiere :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A beach vacation did not happen that summer, Steve's request having come too late in the year for Mom and Dad to make and execute plans. He was disappointed, but enjoyed the summer nonetheless. He felt healthier and stronger than he had in a while, and every clinic visit the rest of the year heralded nothing but good news. Second grade was a great year for Steve. Bucky was in the same class as him again, while Alex, Jasper, and Brock had a different teacher. There was the occasional verbal teasing at recess, mostly involving the nicknames Wheezy and Mama Smurf, but nothing escalated like it had that one time. Steve's only major health scare had been another asthma attack, brought on by a stray dog that snuck up on him while he was on a walk with his parents.</p><p>Mom and Dad finally acted on their promise of a vacation the following summer, after a blissfully long stretch of Steve being healthier than ever. Packing was an ordeal and a half because all of his treatment and feeding equipment had to come with them. Steve might be taking a vacation, but CF never rested. He squeezed in treatments before morning walks on the beach and after picnics in the sand, but having to do them didn't prevent him from having the time of his life. Together, he and Dad built the best sandcastle Steve had ever seen. It turns out sculpting was way, way harder than drawing, but Steve had just as much fun. They tried valiantly to protect it from the rising tide, pretending they were soldiers defending their fort from the opposing army, but of course the sea won. Then Steve charged into the ocean with Dad hot on his heels, laughing joyfully. He brought home a bunch of seashells and kept them in a little jar on his nightstand, just to have something there that wasn't pills. Every time he looked at it he could remember that beach trip and it made him smile.</p><p>He should have known his luck wouldn't last. They returned home just in time for Steve's birthday, and his lung function started to slide. Come mid July, Bucky and his parents packed for their own trip to the beach as Steve and his parents packed for the hospital. Steve's cough plagued him worse than it had in a long time, his lungs felt half full of hardened cement, and his appetite dwindled to near non-existent. Steve didn't look forward to a hospital stay with no hope of a visit from Bucky. He was going to be all the way in North Carolina for two whole weeks, and the week after would go to sleepaway camp in Wisconsin. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back," Bucky had told him.</p><p>Steve had reciprocated with, "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."</p><p>By now, the hospital didn't scare him so much. Sure, most of what happened to him there was no fun at all, but he understood it was only to make him feel better. The nurses all knew him: Peggy, Sharon, Happy, and Heimdall, and so did the other doctors that worked with him. Dr. Pym devised different games to challenge him during physical therapy. Steve beat him in a balloon-blowing race and won a Paw Patrol sticker. He was old enough that he didn't really watch it anymore, but his choices had been that or Spongebob and between the two it was no contest.</p><p>Steve and his dad were walking a lap of the ward when he saw an unfamiliar face emerge from the common room. Unlike most of the other kids that had been here at the same time as Steve over the years, this guy wasn't drastically older or younger than him. The boy turned to look at him and said hello.</p><p>"Hi," Steve said back. "I'm Steve."</p><p>"I'm Brian." Steve's dad and Brian's mom looked at each other and smiled warmly. They took a step forward to pass each other, when suddenly a hand wrapped around Steve's left bicep and yanked him backwards.</p><p>"No," the owner of the hand said. Steve looked up; it was Peggy.</p><p>"I'm sorry, we didn't know," Brian's mom said sincerely, holding her son to her and taking a step back. Steve noticed her British accent matched Brian's.</p><p>"Know what?" Steve asked. The whole situation was terribly confusing.</p><p>"Steve, Brian, do you remember the six feet rule of CF?" Peggy asked them. Brian shook his head no. Now that she mentioned it, Steve did remember, though he'd never met another CF patient at Gravesen and therefore hadn't had to practice adhering to it.</p><p>"Six feet apart?" Steve said inquiringly.</p><p>"That's right. It's very important that you stay at least this far apart from each other," Peggy explained, gesturing to the existing distance between them. "Otherwise you can catch nasty germs form each other, and we don't want that. Okay?"</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>Steve struggled to hide his disappointment. He finally met a potential friend at Gravesen, and they couldn't even get close enough to really play together. Later that day, he explained this frustration to his dad.</p><p>"I'll bet we can find ways for you to play together from a distance," he said.</p><p>"Really?" Steve dared to hope that they could be friends after all.</p><p>"Sure. I'll ask Brian's mom tomorrow if we can."</p><p>"Yay!" He looked forward to getting to know Brian all evening and could barely fall asleep for all his excited energy. After morning treatments, they met Brian and his mom in the common room and sat on opposite ends of the longest couch.</p><p>"It's nice to meet you," Brian said politely, since they hadn't gotten to do more than introduce themselves when they met yesterday.</p><p>"You too," Steve said. "Is this your first time here?"</p><p>Brian nodded, and then he and his mother explained that their family moved to New York from London last year seeking Dr. Erskine's expertise with cystic fibrosis. That explained the accents. Their parents talked a bit about living in the city, and all four of them discussed treatments. Small talk within the chronic illness community was very different than small talk anywhere else. When Steve's parents talked to other grown-ups they just met, CF treatments were never the main topic of conversation. At one point, Steve showed Brian his G-tube button because the other boy didn't have one and was curious what they were like. Once the two families got to know each other, they discussed games that they could play from six feet away.</p><p>"Pictionary!" Steve called. He knew you didn't have to be close for that.</p><p>"That's a great idea," Dad said. One of the cabinets in the common room had markers and whiteboards in it, Steve knew this because he often used them to draw, and grabbed one set for each of them. He left Brian's on the table so they could collect it without getting too close and sat back down beside Dad.</p><p>"I'll go first," Dad announced.</p><p>"You get thirty seconds to draw it," Steve reminded him. Those were the rules of Pictionary in their household. He set his marker to the board and started sketching, brow furrowed in concentration. When time was up, he held it up to show to Brian and his mom, then flipped it around so Steve could see.</p><p>"What is it?" Brian asked. Steve scrutinized the drawing, and had absolutely no idea what it could be.</p><p>"You have to take a guess."</p><p>"A robot?" Brian said.</p><p>"No."</p><p>"A kangaroo?"</p><p>"No." After thirty seconds of silence, Dad finally cracked and told them that he'd drawn a monkey. Steve and Brian erupted into giggles. "What's so funny?"</p><p>"It's not a very good monkey, Dad," Steve told him.</p><p>"What? I think it's a beautiful monkey."</p><p>"I don't think so," Brian said. "Now it's my turn." He took thirty seconds to draw on his own whiteboard, then turned it around.</p><p>"Oh, I know! It's a bicycle," Steve said.</p><p>"Yes. Good guess."</p><p>"Okay, now I'll go." Steve took the whiteboard from his dad's hands and thought of something to draw. Once an idea came to him, he started and finished the drawing just in time.</p><p>"Wow, that's really good," Brian remarked when Steve flipped the board around.</p><p>"Thank you," Steve said.</p><p>"I guess we know he didn't get his art skills from me," Dad commented.</p><p>"Is it a squirrel?" Brian's mom asked.</p><p>"Yeah!"</p><p>"How'd you get so good at drawing?" Brian asked.</p><p>"I dunno. I guess I just practice a lot."</p><p>"You should keep it up, it's clear you have real talent," Brian's mom said.</p><p>"Thank you." They played several more rounds together, resulting in some hilariously terrible drawings from Steve's dad and some surprisingly challenging ones from Brian's mom. Brian himself sketched a very accurate set of lungs for a nine-year-old, complete with a bunch of mucus clogging them up. Once they grew bored of that, Steve and Brian turned on MarioKart and played until Steve had to leave for a vest treatment.</p><p>"I had so much fun, we should do this again," Steve said eagerly.</p><p>"Totally. Who knew it wasn't that hard to play from six feet away?"</p><p>For the rest of that visit, Steve and Brian hung out at every possible opportunity. They played video games sitting six feet apart on the couch, watched movies, improved their Pictionary and charades skills, and on one memorable occasion played telephone with all four of their parents with the kids on opposite ends of the line. "Sixty five roses have too many thorns" got twisted into "Sixteen bros don't toot many horns," which for whatever reason tickled them all to the point where even those with healthy lungs grew short of breath.</p><p>Only when it came time to go home did Steve really understand the permanence of their restriction. He couldn't hug Brian goodbye. And he really wanted to. The most he could do was wave. His only consolation was that their parents had exchanged contact information, so they could still talk even when they weren't in the hospital together. It made the first week he was home, when Bucky was away at camp, pass much more quickly. The opportunity to talk to someone his own age about CF-related things filled him with indescribable glee. He felt less alone in the world knowing another kid just like him. When Bucky returned, the first thing he did was invite Steve over.</p><p>Bucky offered a hug, and Steve hesitated before remembering that the rule only applied to other kids with CF, not Bucky. He enthusiastically accepted. "How was camp?" Steve asked.</p><p>"I guess it was fun, but I missed you."</p><p>"I missed you too. But I made a new friend at Gravesen!"</p><p>"Really? That's great."</p><p>"His name is Brian, and he has CF too," Steve explained.</p><p>"Oh." Bucky seemed almost disappointed at this news. "I'll bet you guys have a lot in common, then."</p><p>"Yeah." Steve didn't know why Bucky suddenly seemed so reserved, but he tried not to let it faze him. "I want to hear all about your week! It had to have been more interesting than mine."</p><p>"Well, it was basically camping with slightly better sleeping arrangements. I got stuck on the bottom of a bunk with this guy who climbed down to go to the bathroom three times every night."</p><p>"That sucks."</p><p>"Yeah. But most of the activities were pretty fun. I discovered I'm pretty good at dodgeball."</p><p>"I'm sure you are." Steve convinced Bucky to talk a little more about his time at camp and his family's trip to the beach, and he reciprocated by asking about Gravesen. He told him all about his time with Brian because it was way more interesting than talking about breathing treatments or physical therapy.</p><p>"Sounds like you found yourself a new best friend," Bucky said morosely.</p><p>"What are you talking about? Who said I had a new best friend?"</p><p>"You kinda did with the way you're talking about this Brian kid. It makes sense you guys would get along really well because you have so much in common."</p><p>"Just because I happened to meet someone else with CF, he automatically becomes my best friend? That's not true; you're my best friend, Bucky. That's never going to change."</p><p>"But I can't relate to you like he can."</p><p>"That doesn't matter to me. You don't have to go through the same things I do to be a good friend," Steve assured him. He regretted raving about Brian so much, because it clearly made Bucky question his own worth as a friend. Steve never wanted him to feel that way. Certainly Brian was a good friend, and he could empathize with some things that Bucky couldn't, but that didn't make him a best friend. That title belonged exclusively and forever to Bucky. "I didn't assume Gabe was your new best friend just because you both play soccer, and Brian and I aren't going to be best friends just because we both have CF. Besides, there's a rule with CF that you can't get closer than six feet of each other, so I'll never be able to enjoy Brian's hugs the way I do yours."</p><p>Steve opened his arms, hoping he'd convinced Bucky that Brian hadn't replaced him. Fortunately, Bucky's arms soon wrapped around Steve and they hugged like they'd never hugged before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Though we don't learn anything about him, the character Brian Braddock does exist in the MCU. Peggy name drops him in Endgame when Steve and Tony go back and time and he sees her walk into her office. Just thought you ought to know that fun little tidbit. And yes, people with CF have been doing the whole six feet apart thing since long before coronavirus was a thing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Brothers in Arms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay...I watched all three and a half hours of the Disney Investor Day presentation and was literally *screaming* the entire time. It was the first time I've ever used the phrase, "I literally can't even" and MEANT it. New trailers for Wandavision, Falcon and Winter Soldier, Loki, and What If? Mark Ruffalo confirmed to be in She-Hulk? Ant Man &amp; the Wasp Quantumania, with Majors confirmed as Kang the Conqueror? Christian Bale revealed as Gorr the God Butcher in Thor Love and Thunder? Chris Evans voicing the original Buzz Lightyear? A Guardians Holiday Special? Ironheart, Armor Wars, I am Groot, Secret Invasion, and Fantastic Four? Plus a shit ton of new Disney, Pixar, and Star Wars content? I'm literally losing my goddamn mind. I am not exaggerating, my respiratory and heart rate did not return to normal for an hour after the presentation concluded. It was the most elated adrenaline I've ever felt in a single day. As dry as this year was for new Marvel content, 2021 is going to be RICH.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve was more nervous to start third grade than any previous year. Not because it was notoriously more difficult, but because for the first time ever, he didn't share a teacher with Bucky. They'd been placed in different classes, and neither of them was thrilled about it. At least Bucky had his friend Gabe from soccer with him; Steve had no one he knew very well. A major disadvantage of having a best friend that he hung out with all the time: making new friends was never high on his priority list. Now it seemed he would have to.</p><p>After saying goodbye to Bucky in the school's hallway, Steve walked nervously into his classroom for the year. "Good morning. You must be Steve," his teacher greeted. He wondered how this man already knew his name, then remembered his parents had already come in for the yearly "Our son has CF, here's what you need to know" meeting.</p><p>"Good morning," Steve said back.</p><p>"Why don't you hang up your backpack and go find the desk with your name on it?"</p><p>"Okay." Steve did as he was told, walking around several tables of pushed-together desks before he found his. He glanced at the other name tags of his three tablemates: Timothy, Jim, and Jennifer. Jennifer was already here, nose buried in a book thicker than anything Steve had ever seen someone their age reading. He considered saying hi, but didn't want to interrupt and make her lose her place. His other tablemates arrived together, laughing and whispering. Steve twiddled his thumbs and waited for class to begin. These two seemed so close already that they wouldn't bother to include anyone else in their conversation. However, the first activity of the day required them all to talk and work together.</p><p>Mr. Chapman gave each table a single piece of paper, scissors, and a foot of tape to build a structure that would hold as many textbooks as possible. Jennifer, being obviously the smartest among them, took the lead and immediately laid out the plan.</p><p>"I did this exact same thing at camp last summer; I know the best way," she explained. None of the boys dared argue with her.</p><p>"So, do you guys know each other?" Steve asked as the three of them ripped tape into smaller pieces.</p><p>"Yeah," Jim answered. "We were in the same class last year."</p><p>"That's cool."</p><p>Before Steve could say more, Jennifer had them reconvene and start assembling. All they had to do was roll up a strip cut from the paper and tape it so it would hold its shape. Theirs ended up holding way more weight than anyone else in the class. With that icebreaker complete, they moved on to the mandatory first day of school introduction and overview of the year. Steve pulled out a notebook to write down anything important flipping through a few doodles to reach a clean page.</p><p>"Whoa, did you draw those?" Timothy asked.</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"That's amazing."</p><p>"Thanks."</p><p>By the time class dismissed for recess, Steve, Timmy (not Timothy, that was too grown-up a name), and Jim had bonded over a shared respect/fear of Jennifer. Steve tracked down Bucky, who was kicking a ball back and forth with Gabe, and introduced him to his new friends. The five of them played together for the entire half hour. When the whistle blew for them to line up to go inside, they were reluctant to separate. They lined up by class, so Steve ended up behind Jennifer and in front of Jim, with Bucky and Gabe in the next line over. As they started inside, Steve broke off to head to the nurse's office where his enzymes were required to be kept. It was strange not to have Bucky with him, but he was old enough not to need a buddy and now that they weren't in the same class it wasn't convenient for Bucky to tag along just for company as he'd done the past two years.</p><p>"Steve, where are you going?" Timmy asked.</p><p>"Yeah, lunch is this way."</p><p>"Oh." Steve had gotten so used to doing this with Bucky that he'd forgotten most kids went straight to lunch. That, and his new friends knew absolutely nothing of his condition. "I have to take medicine at the nurse's before I eat," he explained.</p><p>Timmy and Jim looked at each other curiously before they turned back to Steve. "Okay!" Jim called. "We'll save you a seat."</p><p>"Thanks!"</p><p>"No Bucky today?" the nurse asked him as she fetched his medication. They knew each other so well at this point; she was basically his aunt.</p><p>"No," Steve replied. He downed the pills with a gulp of water and headed off to the cafeteria. Sure enough, Timmy saved the seat right beside him, and Jim sat across. "Hey guys," he greeted as he took his seat.</p><p>"You just missed Jim doing an impression of Mr. Chapman," Timmy said with a giggle. "It's really good."</p><p>"You'd better show me," Steve said, popping a potato chip in his mouth. Jim's impression was not exactly spot on, but it was rather humorous. All week Steve had been worried about how terrible a school year without Bucky beside him would be, but all that stress evaporated as he continued to laugh and talk with Jim and Timmy. When he got home from school that day, he couldn't wait to go back the next day just to see them.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve asked his parents if he could have Timmy and Jim over one weekend in September, and they enthusiastically agreed. Saturday afternoon, he sat in the kitchen eagerly awaiting the sound of their doorbell ringing. Exactly two minutes after the agreed upon time, they arrived. Steve's parents invited Jim's mom, who'd dropped both boys off, inside and they gathered in the living room while Steve ushered his friends off to his room. In his eagerness, he neglected to consider how his room might appear to someone who'd known him less than a month and had never seen it before.</p><p>"Whoa, what's that?" Timmy asked, pointing at the pole for his tube feeding.</p><p>"Uhhh, that's Roger," Steve explained, suddenly embarrassed. He should have anticipated having to explain himself when his room half looked like a hospital room. The desire to skip this part and just have them know everything without him having to slow down and explain it was overwhelming, but that was impossible.</p><p>"What's it for?" Jim questioned. They both seemed uneasy, and Steve hated that his room made them feel that way. Friends weren't supposed to make their friends feel uncomfortable.</p><p>"I get tube fed at night, and that's where we hang the bag of formula. And that's the pump that controls how fast it goes," he told them.</p><p>"Tube fed?"</p><p>Steve sighed. He might as well go through all of it now. "Yeah. I have this thing called cystic fibrosis, which means my lungs get clogged up really easily and I can't digest food like a normal person. That's why I have to take medicine when I eat, and I also have to eat way more than most people, so much that I need extra calories through my tube." He pulled up his shirt to show them the little button, and their eyes nearly bulged out of their heads.</p><p>"What's this for?" Timmy asked, pointing to his vest. "It looks like a life jacket."</p><p>"You're not too far off. It vibrates and help me get the mucus out of my lungs."</p><p>"That's so cool," Jim said.</p><p>"Not really," Steve admitted. "It's kinda gross, actually, but I won't ever make you watch it."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"Do you…have any questions?" Steve thought it was a reasonable thing to ask and he wanted them to satisfy their curiosity now instead of rehashing this conversation later.</p><p>"Is there a cure?"</p><p>"No. I can only manage it; that's what all this is for. Just keeping my lungs as healthy as possible for as long as possible."</p><p>"Oh. Okay."</p><p>He half expected them to keep pestering him with inquiries, but they just accepted it and started suggesting things they could do together. They ended up playing board games. Steve learned Jim was insanely competitive, even more so than Bucky, but he had a blast. Timmy offered to host next time when their ride home arrived, signaling the end of their time together.</p><p>"You don't have a cat or a dog, do you?" Steve asked.</p><p>"No."</p><p>"I do," Jim offered.</p><p>"I'm really, really allergic. I can't visit a house with a dog or cat living there or I'll have an asthma attack."</p><p>"That sucks. I was looking forward to having both of you over."</p><p>"Well, you're always welcome here."</p><p>"Thanks. See you at school!"</p><p>"Bye!"</p><p>Steve smiled and sighed as they left and closed the door behind them. He hadn't been actively hiding his CF from them, but letting them all know just what they were getting into by being friends with him removed a weight from his shoulders that he hadn't even known he'd been carrying.</p><p>~0~</p><p>In April, Steve's lungs acted up again and he had to tell his new friends that he wouldn't be in school for at least two weeks. Timmy and Jim asked countless questions and Steve had to restrain himself from growing frustrated because, unlike Bucky, they'd never experienced this before. He explained everything to the best of his ability, assuring them that he'd be fine, before he said goodbye that Friday. Bucky and his parents stopped by their apartment as they were finishing packing up to wish him luck and a speedy recovery and all that.</p><p>"Don't do anything stupid until I get back," Steve told Bucky, as had become tradition every time Steve was hospitalized.</p><p>"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you," he quipped back. They hugged goodbye, Bucky promising to keep Jim and Timmy out of trouble, before Steve and his parents embarked on the familiar drive to Gravesen.</p><p>"Is Brian here?" he asked Nurse Sharon as she took his preliminary vitals. Meeting Brian was the best thing that had ever happened to him at Gravesen; the other boy's presence made the experience way less horrible.</p><p>"No, but we have two young cancer patients starting treatment tomorrow. They're going to be your new neighbors."</p><p>"Two?" As much as Steve wanted company, he didn't want more kids to have cancer. He understood the more kids got cancer, the more kids died from cancer, and he didn't want that to happen.</p><p>"Yes. Now Steve, they're much littler than you, and it's their first time here, so it's probably going to be scary for them."</p><p>"Is there any way I can make them feel better?" he asked.</p><p>"Just be friendly, maybe share with them some of the good things about this place."</p><p>"Okay." If there was anything he could do to make this hospital less terrifying for little kids, he would do it. It was his responsibility as a seasoned Gravesen resident.</p><p>The next day, a little boy moved into the room directly across from Steve, and another moved into the room next to that one. Steve listened to the hustle and bustle from inside his own room, waiting for it to quiet down so he could go and introduce himself. When he suspected they'd settled down, he headed for the door, dragging the IV pole connected to his latest PICC line behind him.</p><p>"Where are you going?" Dad questioned.</p><p>"I want to introduce myself to the new kids," he announced.</p><p>"That's nice of you. Be careful. I'll be right here."</p><p>"Okay." Steve crossed the hallway and knocked gently on the first door. A tired woman opened it and startled when she saw him.</p><p>"Oh, I thought you were a nurse. Can I help you?" she asked.</p><p>"I'm Steve," he introduced. "I just wanted to stop in and say hi. I'm staying across the hall."</p><p>"Hello Steve, I'm Edith."</p><p>"I'm sorry you have to be here," he said, sensing it was a polite thing to say. If her appearance was anything to go on, she'd done more than her fair share of fretting in the past week or so.</p><p>"Thank you, that's very thoughtful. I'm sorry you're here too."</p><p>"Mommy, who's there?" a little voice asked from deeper inside the room.</p><p>"It's one of your neighbors," she said. "Why don't you come in?" She opened the door wider and beckoned Steve into the room. Sharon wasn't kidding when she said <em>young</em> cancer patient; the kid looked younger than Steve had been during his first hospital stay.</p><p>"Hi," Steve said.</p><p>"Hi," the kid said nervously. "I'm Clint."</p><p>"Nice to meet you Clint, I'm Steve."</p><p>"Do you have cancer too?" Clint asked bluntly.</p><p>Steve shook his head. "I have something called CF." He didn't go into any specifics because this kid was probably too young to understand, but Clint didn't pester him any further. "Have you had a chance to look around the ward yet?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Would you like to see it?" Steve asked hesitantly, glancing at Edith and a man who must've been Clint's father for their approval.</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"I can show you around." Steve had been here so many times, he knew it as well as he knew his own apartment. Surprisingly, Clint's parents allowed him to follow Steve without them tagging along, although they had a whispered discussion about it as Steve and Clint headed out. They paused at the next door over and introduced themselves to the other new patient: a boy Clint's age named Scott. Steve repeated his introduction to Scott's father, and the young boy was given permission to tag along.</p><p>"So, this is the hallway where all the rooms are," Steve began. "Sometimes there's a lot of people here, and sometimes only a little bit. Right now, I think it's just the three of us." He showed them to the common room and pointed out the little kid toys that he hadn't used himself in years. Scott and Clint were understandably excited about those, and about all the movies in the cabinet. As much as Steve was getting to know them during this tour, they appeared to be getting to know each other. They whispered in each other's ears as they walked from place to place.</p><p>"What's this?" Scott asked at one point, indicating Steve's pole.</p><p>"This? This is a pole," he explained. Steve knew enough about cancer treatment to figure they'd soon be getting their own. "It holds the medicine so that it can drip down into your body." He showed them the tubing snaking from the bags into his PICC line. Clint's eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the line disappearing into Steve's bicep.</p><p>"Will I get one of those?" he asked.</p><p>"I don't know. Maybe. But they're not nearly as scary as they look, I promise."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>As he concluded the tour, Steve told them, "If you ever need me, I'm right behind this door." With that, he turned them back over to their parents, who thanked him kindly. "No problem," he assured them.</p><p>"How did it go?" his dad asked when Steve returned to his own room.</p><p>"It felt really good."</p><p>"That's great."</p><p>Clint and Scott started treatment for a cancer called neuroblastoma, Steve learned. In the interludes between his own treatments, Steve found them playing together in the common room and joined in. The games they enjoyed were a little juvenile for him, but he played anyway because it made them so happy to have a big kid join in on their fun. Steve had never had siblings, but these two kids almost felt like little brothers.</p><p>The second week of his stay began, and Steve found himself keeping Scott company in his room while his father took a much-needed shower. Steve knew from observing his own parents how stressful it was to have a kid in the hospital, and Scott's dad was new at this. Steve had brought his sketchbook and several pencils and offered some to Scott.</p><p>"Can I draw you?" Steve asked him. He'd been working on drawing people lately, and his skills were steadily improving. More practice would certainly help.</p><p>"Yeah! Can I draw you?"</p><p>"Sure." They sat in silence for ten minutes before Scott finished his drawing. He proudly handed it to Steve, who struggled for a while to figure out which lines represented which parts of a person. He identified the face, but there were a bunch of extra lines that he didn't understand.</p><p>"What's this?" he asked, indicating one of the lines in question.</p><p>"It's your pole," Scott explained, as if the answer should be obvious.</p><p>"Oh, I see now. That's awesome."</p><p>"Keep it." Scott practically threw the drawing at him.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>"Can I see yours?" Scott asked.</p><p>"Well, it's not done yet, but here's what I have so far." Steve showed him, and the kid's mouth fell open in awe.</p><p>"You're such a good drawer."</p><p>"Thank you." Scott worked on another picture while Steve finished up his drawing. It was one of the best pieces he'd ever done, and when he returned to his room he stuck it in a folder he'd started keeping of all his best drawings. Scott's drawing of him went into the folder too.</p><p>The next night, just before eight o'clock curfew, Scott dragged Steve into his room by the arm, demanding a bedtime story. "Can't your dad read to you?" Steve asked, unsure if he'd be allowed to stay over long enough to read more than a page or two.</p><p>"Yes, but I want you to read to me," Scott insisted.</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"Thank you so much for agreeing," Scott's dad said, relief evident in his face and in his voice. "He was refusing to go to sleep without a story from you."</p><p>"It's fine," he assured. Steve sat down beside Scott on his bed as the younger boy eagerly handed him a picture book. Looking at the title, Steve was reminded of the book his mother had read to him to ease his worries about getting a feeding tube when he was little. This book was about cancer treatment, a way to normalize it for these kids enduring the unimaginable.</p><p>As he read, Steve periodically glanced at Scott to read his expression. Evidently, he'd already normalized these things. He even showed Steve his port that matched the boy in the book. Only when he reached the part of the book about hair loss did Scott show signs of nervousness. "I haven't lost my hair yet, but Daddy says it's going to happen soon," he sighed.</p><p>"Oh yeah?" Steve didn't know what else to say.</p><p>"Yeah. But it won't hurt. He said it's just like leaves falling off the trees. It'll grow back."</p><p>"Yeah, it will. Until then, I bet you'll find some cool hats to wear."</p><p>"Finish the book."</p><p>Steve finished the book, and by the time he did Scott was visibly sleepy. It was only twenty minutes past curfew, but Steve still worried he'd get in trouble as he crossed the hallway. Fortunately, no nurses caught him. Scott must have raved about his story-telling skills, because the next night Clint demanded he read to him. And that's how Steve spent the rest of his evenings, reading alternately to Scott and Clint. Sometimes he read books about cancer, other times normal children's books. Steve's parents told him how proud they were that he was helping out the younger kids, but Steve didn't need their praise. The looks on Clint's and Scott's faces when they looked up to him were reward enough.</p><p>~0~</p><p>"Lucky," Clint whined when Steve told him he got to go home. "I want to go home."</p><p>"I know you do, but you have to get better first."</p><p>"When will I get better?" As he asked this, Clint looked up at Steve with desperation in his eyes. Steve nearly cried because he didn't know. He didn't know what to tell this poor boy fighting a disease he didn't understand. Steve barely understood his own condition, but cancer he knew next to nothing about. All he knew was that, as with Logan, sometimes it killed kids. That definitely wasn't something he could tell Clint or Scott.</p><p>"I don't know," Steve admitted. "But when you do, have your parents call mine and we can have a playdate, okay?" That seemed like a reasonable platitude for a four-year-old.</p><p>"Okay!"</p><p>The last time Steve left the hospital, he'd almost been reluctant because he wouldn't see Brian every day anymore. This time, he was reluctant because he wondered who would take care of Scott and Clint when he wasn't there. Hopefully, they'd do a good enough job at taking care of each other.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No, his teacher's name is not a reference. I decided that I don't have to be clever with super minor characters like that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Sweet Dreams, Ant-Man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a prequel, so there aren't really any surprises and you can probably tell by the title of this chapter what's going to happen. I still feel the need to place a warning that this chapter contains character death, namely a child's death, because I know how difficult a topic it can be.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve survived the first five months of fourth grade without a hospital stay. Not quite a personal record, but any year where he made it through flu season was considered a good year. There was a close call, but he managed to avoid being admitted with a course of oral antibiotics and upping his regimen to four treatments a day for several weeks. In addition to before school, he fit in the other three immediately after school, before dinner, and right before bedtime, which often got pushed to later to give him time to fit in all the treatments. It was exhausting, but it allowed him to continue going to normal school.</p><p>Inevitably, his streak came to an end, and Steve said goodbye to all his friends before heading to Gravesen. Scott and Clint, now sporting matching bald heads, greeted him. Clint had grown in the nine months since Steve last saw them, but not Scott. If anything, he looked smaller. He was certainly skinnier; they both were, but their spirits were as high as ever.</p><p>"Go fish," Scott said, sticking out his tongue at Steve to rub it in. This was the game Steve found himself playing after Clint and Scott begged him to join them. Steve drew a card from the pile in the center of the table and sighed.</p><p>"Ant-Man, do you have any nines?" Clint asked.</p><p>"Since when do you call him that?" Steve questioned. The nickname was kind of cute, but could also easily be offensive. He glanced to Scott to see which way he interpreted it. The kid's smile had not wavered, so Steve assumed he liked it.</p><p>"Since the last time I played this game with him and he asked me if I had any queens," Clint explained.</p><p>"Ants love their queen," Scott added. "The Ancient One taught us that." Steve had forgotten that kids this young even did school here. Scott handed over two nines and Clint put down a book of all four.</p><p>"Steve, do you have any twos?"</p><p>"Go fish."</p><p>"I wish I could go fishing for real," Clint sighed.</p><p>"Clint, do you have any sevens?" Scott asked.</p><p>"I want to catch a really big one. As big as Scott!"</p><p>"Clint! Sevens?" Scott repeated.</p><p>"Sorry. I didn't hear you. Here you go." Clint handed Scott a seven. The game continued, Clint building on his early lead and bringing it home for the win. Afterward, Scott grabbed Steve by the hand and dragged him towards his room.</p><p>"I have to show you something," he insisted. Steve followed, and what he found was certainly not what he expected. Scott unzipped the outer pocket of his kid-sized suitcase and pulled out Nurse Peggy's ID badge.</p><p>"Where did you get this?" Steve asked concernedly.</p><p>"I took it off her scrubs while she was numbing my port," Scott explained jubilantly.</p><p>"How?"</p><p>"I just took it. She didn't even notice."</p><p>"Scott, that's stealing."</p><p>"I'm going to give it back, but only when they realize it's me."</p><p>"They?"</p><p>"I have Dr. Potts' pen too."</p><p>Logically, Steve knew he shouldn't be encouraging thievery in a five-year-old, but he was so impressed that Scott could even pull that off that he couldn't find it in himself to tell him to stop. Plus, he was curious just how far this could go. Over the next week, Scott amassed six more pens, Happy's ID badge, and a stethoscope. He wouldn't tell Steve whose neck he took it off of, but he must have told Clint. The two of them giggled together constantly, even when they were hooked up to chemo. Steve went with them when they received their infusions and marveled at how ordinary they found it. They were so young that it was possible they didn't even remember much before cancer.</p><p>Towards the end of that week, Scott went for scans. Mr. Lang was a nervous wreck, pacing the hallways while Scott was busy drinking CT contrast. Steve understood these results were similar to those he got when he went to clinic; they informed the doctors how Scott was doing and what kinds of treatments he might need in the future. Steve and his mom took a walk around the hospital, and he glimpsed Dr. Potts leaving her office looking more stressed out than he'd ever seen her. Steve learned later it was because of what showed up on Scott's scans. He started a new, stronger chemo regimen just as Steve's lung function popped back up to baseline and he finished his round of antibiotics.</p><p>Steve invited Clint and Scott for one last round of go fish before he went home, and Scott declined, citing he felt too sick and tired. In the smallest voice possible, Scott asked if Steve would read him a story instead to help him fall asleep. Without question, Steve picked up Scott's favorite book and read until the boy's eyes closed and his head slumped onto his shoulder. His breaths grew even and slow and the lines of discomfort on his young face smoothed out. Steve gently extricated himself from Scott's bed, rearranging the pillows to support Scott in his current position. Mr. Lang, who'd fallen asleep in his chair, didn't stir either. As Steve sat in the car on the way home, he felt guilty for leaving him when he needed more comfort than ever. Hopefully, this rough new treatment would work.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve finished out the school year with only one sinus infection to mar his health history. Summer was fantastic, Steve feeling physically better than ever. He spent most days running around in the park with Bucky, Jim, Timmy, and Gabe. When he grew tired or if it was too hot to go outside, he pulled out his sketchbook and drew whatever came to mind. He drew lots of pictures of Scott, his thoughts never straying too far from the boy and how he was doing. Steve often asked his parents for updates, but since they weren't friends with Mr. Lang, they didn't know a whole lot.</p><p>He started fifth grade excited to finally be one of the big kids on campus. Bucky still towered over him by a good four or five inches, but Steve hoped he wouldn't be mistaken for a third grader anymore. As fall crept inexorably towards winter, the Rogers exercised all of their usual precautions to protect Steve from germs, but ultimately failed. Steve fell ill in mid-October and he could tell without even having scans, throat cultures, or bloodwork at clinic that he needed to go to the hospital. Only this time, he was determined to do his PICC line insertion without sedation. It wouldn't take as long if they didn't need to put him to sleep, and he wouldn't feel so tired and woozy afterwards. Dad tried to talk him out of it, but Steve insisted he was old enough to handle it. When the doctor said they could always sedate him during the procedure if he got anxious or things otherwise weren't working out, Dad acquiesced.</p><p>They took Steve to a procedure room and laid him out flat on a table, his right arm extended. The doctor who would be inserting the PICC was so heavily gowned and masked that Steve could barely even make out her face. He felt completely at ease until she draped the rest of his body except the arm. She explained everything as she did it, so he understood the need for sterility, but he still didn't particularly like it. The ultrasound probe was cold against the skin of his arm, and it seemed to take her forever before she finally found what she was looking for.</p><p>"You've had so many of these before that good veins are getting hard to come by," she stated. Steve didn't think that sounded good. What would they do if he ran out of veins completely? Now that she'd identified the vein, she prepped the site for insertion, first thoroughly cleaning it. A terse warning, and then she stuck him with numbing medicine. Steve bit his lip and waited for the stab of the needle to subside as the effects took hold. Sure enough, within moments, he could no longer feel what she was doing. However, that scared him even more than pain. Now, he couldn't help but tilt his head just enough to see his arm.</p><p>The needle looked way bigger than he thought it needed to be, but he didn't even feel it as it went in. He didn't feel the catheter either as she slid it further and further into his arm, but the idea completely freaked him out. A distressed whimper escaped his throat.</p><p>"Steve, are you okay?" the nurse on the other side of him asked.</p><p>"Yes," he insisted. But as he pictured the thin tube in the doctor's hands crawling its way through him towards his heart like a snake on the hunt, his breathing started to pick up.</p><p>"Don't watch; look at me," the nurse prompted. Steve obeyed, and by the time he looked at the nurse his eyes were full of tears.</p><p>"Let's go ahead and push the sedative," the doctor prompted.</p><p>"No, don't! I can do this," Steve said through gritted teeth. The doctor and nurse exchanged a glance, but neither of them gave him any medicine. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't watch the tube advance, but he'd already seen it and the image stuck in his head. Deep breath in, and exhale. Without even trying, he slipped into the breathing pattern he used when he did his vest treatments. Which, of course, resulted in him coughing. And, because he was sick, that cough was far less controlled than usual. He jerked on the table, reflexively reaching to cover his mouth, and the doctor muttered a word Steve had been told never, ever to say. When the coughing subsided and Steve glanced back at his numb arm, he found it dripping with blood. The sight of it elicited another whine, this one not so much distressed as panicked.</p><p>"It's okay," the nurse assured him. "Everything's under control. We're just going to have to try again."</p><p>Steve steeled himself. "Okay."</p><p>"We can still put you to sleep if you want. I know that was scary."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Alright. But if you change your mind, let us know, okay?"</p><p>"Okay." Steve bit his lip as the doctor set on him again with the cold ultrasound. This time, it took her even longer. He couldn't feel her cleaning the new site, and he didn't dare to watch any of it this time. Instead, he closed his eyes and counted. He made it to three hundred sixty one before the doctor announced she was there and just needed a chest x-ray to make sure it ended up in the right place. A chest x-ray Steve could do no problem; he'd done those countless times at clinic. Everything looked good, so she capped the line where it stuck out of his arm and applied the dressing.</p><p>"All finished. You did great."</p><p>Steve said nothing, though inside he was filled with relief that it was over and pride that he'd successfully done it without sedation. However, he wasn't entirely sure it was worth it. They took him back to his room and Dad asked how it went. Steve didn't answer, but the nurse told him that it had taken two tries, but Steve was a trooper through all of it. Given that he spent a decent amount of time crying like a baby, Steve disagreed, but he didn't contest. He just never wanted to do it again.</p><p>Antibiotics up and running, Steve asked if Scott was here and how he was doing. The look that Nurse Peggy gave him when he asked told him the answer, but it wasn't a good one. After a pleading look from Steve, she told him. "Scott is very sick."</p><p>"Is he gonna die?"</p><p>She pursed her lips, paused, and nodded.</p><p>"Can I go see him?" Steve got approval, but he was afraid. He didn't know what to do or say to a little kid in that situation. In fact, he chickened out of going until Scott's dad sought him out and invited him to come and visit.</p><p>"Scott heard you were here and he wants to see you," he said.</p><p>"Okay," Steve croaked weakly. He allowed Scott's dad to guide him to the room and lead them inside. All Steve could think about when he laid eyes on Scott was how little he looked swamped by so many tubes.</p><p>"Steve!" Scott perked up when Steve entered, but "perking up" was a relative term when he looked so sick.</p><p>"Hey," Steve greeted, trying not to let his voice shake and reveal how afraid he was for the kid. Scott reached out a hand and his dad almost imperceptibly nudged Steve closer. He stepped forward and sat in the chair closest to the bed, where Scott's father had undoubtedly been sitting for the past few days. Cautiously, he took Scott's hand in his own, worried that one wrong move would break something inside of him.</p><p>"I'm glad you're here," Scott said. "Clint's not here, so it's lonely."</p><p>"I'm happy to keep you company."</p><p>"Daddy said I'm going to sleep soon." The casual tone with which he talked about something so horrible made Steve want to cry, but he knew that doing that in front of Scott wouldn't help matters any. Scott's dad choked on a sob before restraining himself, but Scott didn't seem to notice. He was staring, wide-eyed, at Steve like he held the answers to the universe.</p><p>"Yeah," Steve said. Someone as young as Scott couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of what he faced, but Steve, with his six extra years of wisdom, did know.</p><p>"I won't have to do treatment anymore."</p><p>"That sounds nice." For a kid who knew nothing but suffering like Scott, that must seem enticing.</p><p>"Uh-huh." Scott's eyelids drooped with exhaustion, but he seemed determined not to fall asleep with Steve still here.</p><p>Steve took a deep breath, knowing that he couldn't stay here much longer without overtaxing Scott or destroying his own composure and frightening him. He gave his little hand a squeeze and said, "Dream some good dreams, okay?"</p><p>"Aye aye Captain," Scott replied, bringing his other hand to his forehead in a salute. Steve gave him a warm smile and turned to leave.</p><p>"Thank you," Scott's dad whispered. Steve looked up at him and saw the same expression he'd seen in Logan's parents' faces: harrowing grief mixed with gratitude from knowing that somebody cared. Despite the pain it caused him, Steve took pride in assuming the responsibility to be that person who cared.</p><p>But two days later when the pain hit in full force, he questioned whether caring was worth it. He knew before Dad broke the news that Scott had died. It happened early that morning, peacefully and painlessly. Steve looked up to the ceiling, whispered, "Sweet dreams, Ant-Man," and then broke down crying in his dad's arms. No little kid should have to suffer like Scott did only to die. It just wasn't fair.</p><p>The day after it happened, they sent him to talk with Dr. Wilson. Steve shared all of his thoughts and fears without hesitation, but even the best psychiatrist in the world couldn't tell him why cancer chose to go after Scott. However, he did share a technique for coping with loss called PERMA. He needed to focus on moving forward with five things: positive emotion, engagement, relationships, meaning, and accomplishment. Even though it wouldn't for Scott, life would continue for Steve and he needed to move along with it. Dr. Wilson assigned him to find at least one thing every day to make him smile or laugh, and to approach a loved one and tell them what they meant to him, even if it was just a simple "I love you."</p><p>Steve didn't hesitate to tell both of his parents that he loved them, and he thanked Nurses Peggy and Sharon for taking care of him so well. They looked back at him with shining eyes and thanked him for being such a great patient. His first major challenge arrived when Clint returned. It was the first time the two of them were together without Scott. Steve tried to engage him in some of the games they used to play, but Clint pushed him away. He visited Dr. Wilson every day; sometimes they would run into each other as Clint finished his session and Steve started his. By the time Steve was discharged, Clint had barely poked his head out from the shell he'd retreated into. Steve thought about him and Scott every night for months.</p><p>~0~</p><p>After his last admittance and the trauma of awake PICC line placement compounded with Scott's death, Steve did some research and decided he wanted a port. If he got one he wouldn't have to have a PICC inserted at the beginning of every admission and removed at the end. Instead, they would only need to access and deaccess the device, a much simpler process. He'd been as involved as possible in his treatment for his entire life, but this was the first time he'd actively sought out an alternative to his current plan. The next time he went to clinic, he brought it up, and his team supported the idea. For the first time in his life, Steve found himself looking forward to a surgery.</p><p>It was strange, checking into the hospital for something other than a tune-up lasting two weeks or more. Not since he was six had he intentionally entered the hospital for anything shorter (asthma attack admissions didn't count since they were unintentional). He repeated his name and birth date a bunch of times to whoever demanded it of him and mentally read off the long list of medications he'd taken that morning. Though he understood the process was necessary, he just wanted this over with. His stomach growled at him incessantly since he hadn't been able to tube feed last night or eat breakfast this morning because of today's procedure. The only thing keeping him going was the promise of a snack when this was all over.</p><p>He had no idea how much time had passed when he eventually woke, but he did remember thinking about food nonstop before the drugs knocked him out. "When can I eat?" were the first words out of his mouth. Mom and Dad laughed, but told him he needed to wait a little longer. Steve glanced down at his chest and found only a small bandage above a slight bump in his skin. Just one more thing that made CF, a supposedly invisible disease, visible for him. He got to go home just a few hours later, after a much needed snack and the all clear from the doctors. The site hurt just enough for it to be noticeable, but it didn't really bother him, and within two days he felt completely normal again.</p><p>He showed it to Bucky the next time he came over, pulling down the collar of his shirt to reveal the bump. "Did it hurt?" Bucky asked.</p><p>"A little."</p><p>"Is it permanent?"</p><p>"For me, probably. I'll be on and off of IVs for my entire life, so unless it breaks or gets infected it can stay in," Steve explained. Bucky listened intently and nodded along. They didn't talk about it much longer, instead returning to the math homework they'd been helping each other with.</p><p>Steve didn't get a chance to appreciate his decision until the beginning of summer break. His lungs had needed a tune-up for a while, but Steve had been so desperate to finish fifth grade without missing any more school that Dr. Erskine agreed it could wait. The day after he walked the halls of his elementary school for the last time, he was on his way to Gravesen. Instead of spending an hour in radiology for a PICC line placement, Steve merely had to sit still for a few moments while a nurse stuck a needle into the port. Now, it was an enormous needle, and it scared him at first glance, but Nurse Peggy made sure he had numbing cream beforehand so he barely even felt it go in. The taste of the saline flush was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, like accidentally swallowing ocean water, but the whole ordeal was over in a matter of minutes. He had a clear dressing on his chest over the needle and both arms free to move without him being paranoid about accidentally ripping a line out. Steve considered his first autonomous medical decision a roaring success.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Middle School</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve, Bucky, Jim, Timmy, and Gabe entered middle school as a well-established friend group. It was very helpful to have them all there because such a major life transition made Steve nervous. Middle school started nearly an hour earlier, which meant he had to wake up nearly an hour earlier to fit treatment in, so he worried about being too sleep-deprived to properly pay attention in class. For a week before the first day, he practiced waking up at the new time so it wouldn't catch him off guard. He also introduced himself to the school's nurse and other administration and, with the help of his parents, went through the process of explaining all the ways the school year would look different for him. Everyone was kind and accommodating, so it could have been worse, but he wished he didn't have to endure it at all.</p><p>A new school came with new schedules; they'd be switching classes for every subject now instead of having one teacher for everything except related arts. The five of them compared their schedules and found they had at least one friend in most of their classes. Lockers, however, were assigned alphabetically, so Steve's stood so far away from most of theirs that he couldn't even see them. He did, however, find himself surrounded. Brock Rumlow fell directly after Steve in their class alphabetically, and Jasper Sitwell wasn't far behind him. To top it all off, Alex Pierce came a few lockers before. Steve was completely boxed in.</p><p>None of them said anything to him, but Brock slammed his locker suddenly, making Steve jump. He decided he would spend as little time at his locker as possible. As far as academics went, he wasn't too concerned; he always managed to keep up satisfactory grades despite the occasional weeks-long switch to Gravesen school. The only thing that really frightened him about middle school was gym.</p><p>In elementary school, they just had to remember to wear sneakers on the two days a week they had gym, but now they were required to wear uniforms. Which meant they had to change in the locker room before and after class, a notion none-too-enticing for Steve. He'd always been skinny, and still remained stubbornly on the scrawny side of thin despite the bonus calories he received at night. But that wasn't what kept him awake at night for a week before school started. What petrified him was the idea of baring his scarred torso to a locker room full of boys, most of which he didn't know at all. Nobody knew about his g-tube except for his close friends and maybe some kids from kindergarten who glimpsed it when it was still a longer tube and not a button.</p><p>Steve had considered voicing his concerns and maybe getting some form of accommodation, but shot that idea down as soon as it came to him. He was in middle school now, he could get over this by himself. A fortunate twist of fate placed Bucky in the same gym class as him. Having Bucky around always eased his nerves. On their way to class, he opened his mouth to confess he was internally freaking out, but Bucky beat him to it and started raving about the real sports they got to play in middle school gym. Steve bit his lip and told himself to man the hell up.</p><p>None of the other boys hesitated to change into their uniform shirts. Steve convinced himself they were all too busy socializing to spare him a glance and tried to just get it over with. He almost thought he'd gotten away with it, but as he threaded his right arm through the sleeve he heard it.</p><p>"What the heck is that?" the kid at the next locker over asked. Steve froze with his torso only half in the new shirt. He'd mentally prepared for stares, but not up-front rude questions. Pulling the shirt fully on, he found himself facing Brock Rumlow. Of course he'd gotten stuck next to him; these lockers were assigned alphabetically too. Steve stared at him, mortified, while Brock stared back like he'd just discovered Steve had a third eye. A few options presented themselves. Steve could give a sarcastic answer like, "It's where I plug in my charger," or "You're telling me you don't have a belly button?" He could also just walk away without saying a word. Alternatively, he could take advantage of this opportunity and educate this discourteous idiot. Which option would his mother be proud of him for choosing?</p><p>"It's just a feeding tube," he said as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Some of us need a little extra help maintaining weight."</p><p>"Oh." The syllable left Brock's throat seemingly involuntarily. Steve flashed him a smile and strode out of the locker room, quickly joined by Bucky. Brock emerged a minute or two later, but neither Jasper nor Alex were in this class. They were much less likely to act out when they were alone, so Steve held out hope for this year's gym class.</p><p>"Did he give you a hard time?" Bucky asked, glancing between Steve and Brock.</p><p>"He tried to," Steve said smugly.</p><p>"Oh yeah?"</p><p>"Turns out the best way to shut them down is just to tell them the truth."</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve's favorite classes hadn't changed since the first grade: history and art. The middle school's art teacher quickly took a liking to him because of his passion and talent for the subject. Bucky preferred science, which worked out perfectly because they could help each other with their respective weaker subjects. Jim excelled in English, so he proofread their essays whenever they asked, and Gabe was their go-to for math help. As for Timmy, he asked for help with homework more often than he was capable of providing it, but he made up for it by being one of the most genuinely kind and encouraging people Steve had ever met.</p><p>Bucky, Timmy, Steve, and Alex were all in the same math class. Getting the grades from their first test of the year was nerve-wracking for everybody. Steve had squeezed in extra practice problems during evening breathing treatments to ensure he was prepared, and scored a ninety percent for his trouble. He glanced at Bucky across the classroom, who gave a thumbs-up to indicate he'd done well. Timmy, on the other hand, looked downright dejected. The bell rang and Steve joined up with Bucky and Timmy on their way out of the classroom. Alex trailed behind them.</p><p>"My dad is going to kill me if he sees this test," Timmy bemoaned.</p><p>"I'm sure that's not true," Bucky assured.</p><p>"You can go over it and figure out what you need to work on," Steve offered.</p><p>"Everything," he grumbled.</p><p>Steve felt horrible that Timmy hadn't done as well as he'd hoped, but a voice from behind them turned that pity immediately into anger. "Better luck next time, Dum Dum." Alex rarely confronted them without his lackeys by his side, but apparently he couldn't resist tormenting Timmy over this. Steve whirled around with fire in his eyes and squared his shoulders. "Is that your attempt at looking intimidating?" Alex asked with a snort.</p><p>"Buzz off, Alex," Steve demanded. Bucky and Timmy stood just behind him, but his world narrowed to just him and this asshole who constantly tried his hardest to make life miserable for Steve and his friends.</p><p>"What are you going to do, cough on me?"</p><p>"I might," he threatened. The tension between the two of them flared. A tug at his sleeve snapped Steve's attention away from Alex.</p><p>"Let's go. He's not worth it."</p><p>Steve took a breath and turned away. Bucky was right. He shouldn't waste his time attempting to infuse some goodness into a person so determined to be a miserable bully—and he wouldn't have, if Alex hadn't said to him as he walked away, "I look forward to the next time you disappear for weeks, Wheezy Smurf." That was the last straw. With a roar, Steve charged him. The commotion lasted only a few moments before the teacher in the nearest classroom heard them and broke off the fight with a stern yell. Bucky, who'd been trying to pull Steve away from Alex, stepped back, and the two of them stood there, panting.</p><p>"To the office. Now."</p><p>Alex, Bucky, and Steve marched morosely to the principal's. They'd been through this before in elementary school, so Steve held out little hope that anything would actually change. Alex's dad was a powerful state politician, so he managed to get his son out of just about any trouble he ever found himself in. Steve and Bucky could insist that Alex tormented them all they wanted, but the boy was careful. He never let adults see him initiate a confrontation, instead egged Steve on until he retaliated and drew attention. By the time any credible witnesses started paying attention, all they saw was a brawl with no indication of how it began.</p><p>Steve and Bucky told their side of the story, and Alex systematically denied all of it. It was so frustrating, not being believed when they knew they were telling the truth. Ultimately, since this was the first incident at this school, they got off with a warning and a phone call home. Steve didn't look forward to explaining to his parents what had happened.</p><p>~0~</p><p>"We got a phone call from the school today," Dad announced at dinner. Steve groaned and braced himself for this conversation. "Want to tell us what happened?"</p><p>"Not really."</p><p>"Well you don't have a choice."</p><p>"Alex was making fun of Timmy for getting a bad grade on his math test and just generally being a dick—"</p><p>"Language," his father chastised.</p><p>"Where did you even learn to use that word?" Mom asked, sounding scandalized.</p><p>"Middle school," he huffed. "Anyway, I couldn't just stand there and let him keep talking like that. I tried to tell him to leave him alone, but he refused and things got physical." Steve refused to mention the mean comments Alex had directed at him specifically. Everything was always about him and his CF and he was sick of it. If he revealed that Alex was targeting him because of his illness, the whole thing would turn into a more massive issue than he wanted it to be. He didn't really care when Alex belittled him; he could let those remarks roll off his back pretty easily, but he could not abide by anyone going after his friends.</p><p>"Who threw the first punch?" Dad asked. The teacher hadn't seen the fight begin and the kids involved gave conflicting stories, so the phone call home must not have contained a description of who started it. Steve considered lying, but just couldn't bring himself to do it.</p><p>"I did," he mumbled.</p><p>"Steven." When Mom used his full name it meant she was disappointed. Steve had expected this, but it still stung to hear that tone in her voice.</p><p>"I'm sorry, but he deserved it."</p><p>"Violence solves nothing," Dad said sternly.</p><p>"You can't be getting into fights. If someone hit you in the port, they could break it, and that's incredibly dangerous," Mom reminded him.</p><p>"I know. I tried to use words, and we were walking away, but then he crossed the line and I turned on him without really thinking about it."</p><p>"Think about it harder next time," Mom instructed.</p><p>"I will, I will," he promised. "Am I punished?" Never before had they issued him any punishment more severe than time-out when he was little, but he thought something of this caliber certainly warranted one.</p><p>Mom and Dad exchanged a conspiratorial glance and appeared to reach an agreement. "No," they told him. "But that doesn't mean you're getting away with it. We expect that you learn from this and act differently in the future."</p><p>"Of course. Can I be excused?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Steve put his plate and silverware in the dishwasher and dashed off to his room. He couldn't believe they let him off that easy. Alex's words haunted him as he attempted to finish up his homework for the day. <em>What are you going to do, cough on me?</em> It wasn't Steve's fault he existed with what was essentially a perpetual pneumonia. Alex had no idea what it was like to live with lungs like Steve's, the constant effort he put in just to be able to breathe every day. If he understood he wouldn't dare make fun of him. <em>I look forward to the next time you disappear for weeks, Wheezy Smurf.</em> Whether Alex said it just to be a jerk or he genuinely meant it, the comment made Steve's blood boil. Was it really possible that he enjoyed the times when Steve missed school to go inpatient? What had he ever done to Alex to make him wish Steve disappeared? He only defended himself and his friends from the onslaught of Alex's jeering. Steve knew he was in the right, and he only hoped that one day he could convince Alex to see things from his perspective.</p><p>~0~</p><p>"I'm grounded for a week," Bucky informed Steve when he saw him at school the next day.</p><p>"That sucks. I'm sorry," Steve replied.</p><p>"What did your parents do?"</p><p>"They just lectured me."</p><p>"They didn't punish you?"</p><p>"No. They said they expect me to learn from this without punishment."</p><p>"Yeah, that sounds like your parents. I'm jealous. You've never gotten in trouble as long as I've known you."</p><p>"I don't know why they're like that. It's not like I've never deserved it. I started it. You were trying to break up the fight; you shouldn't be grounded.</p><p>"They didn't really care. Hearing that I'd been involved at all in a fight was enough for them."</p><p>"Well, at least they can't ground you from seeing me at school."</p><p>Alex and his friends laid low for a few weeks, wary of a repeat incident raising suspicion against them. Steve enjoyed the respite, though he remained on alert in case they tried to target another of his friends. Timmy scored almost ten percent better on their next math test, much to everyone's glee. In January, they got to dissect frogs in science class, and Steve partnered with Bucky. Despite his love of science, Bucky was not keen on handling the insides of the specimen. Steve on the other hand, wasn't fazed by any of it.</p><p>"How are you not grossed out by this at all?" Bucky questioned.</p><p>"I look at my own stomach juices on a regular basis," Steve stated bluntly. "This is nothing."</p><p>"Yuck, don't remind me."</p><p>"You've seen me cough up stuff grosser than this, why are you acting so squeamish?"</p><p>"I don't know, maybe because it's a <em>dead frog.</em>"</p><p>"Oh, get a grip. We have to get this done before the end of the class period, and I need your help." Steve passed him the second scalpel and waited. Bucky held his breath, but he managed to get it done. They found an intact beetle in their frog's stomach, much to the delight of their teacher. Steve was having a great year, academic and health-wise, and he never expected that it could get even better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I've been thinking about this for a while, and now that we're knee-deep in prequels it seemed the right time to bring it up. Obviously I'm covering a lot of ground, but even more obviously there's a lot more ground that I haven't covered. There are always places to fill in the blank and elaborate more, or to see something through the eyes of another character. I have a few ideas rolling around, but I want to know what you guys want to see. As we progress through this universe, think about one-shots you want to read or other characters you want to learn more about, and I just might write it out. Even after the sequel, I don't want this universe to close. I don't even know what I'll spend my time doing when I finish writing everything I have planned. That's why I'm asking for suggestions. For example, I've already gotten a request for more Gravesen-staff's-eye-view like we got with Happy in Natasha's prequel. And as you know I'm already writing a Sarah Rogers spinoff that may eventually branch out to include multiple characters' mothers. This is an interactive form of creative writing, so please don't be afraid to tell me what you want to see so I can make it happen :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Drug Trials and Tribulations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I got lots of great ideas, so thank you to those who shared! Other note, the sequel just reached 150k. Wow.</p><p>The events detailed in this chapter were mentioned in Bucky's prequel, and several of you mentioned wanting to learn more about what happened. So, here you go :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time ever, Steve was genuinely excited to go to Gravesen. A new drug had just been approved for treatment of CF, and Dr. Erskine wanted Steve to try it. It promised to clear his lungs more effectively than any of the countless medications he'd been on practically his entire life. As soon as the first pill passed his lips, a dramatic sense of anticipation filled him from toe to top.</p><p>The drug kicked in even faster than Steve expected it to. By the end of the second day, his lungs felt clearer than they'd felt in years, and he couldn't stop himself from taking deep breaths even when he didn't have to out of pure joy. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me," he proclaimed to his parents that night. That statement was further supported when he blew a PFT of eighty two percent.</p><p>"You're lying," he said in disbelief when they told him the number.</p><p>"I'm not lying. Congratulations."</p><p>Steve's lungs had been hovering between fifty five and sixty percent function for the past year or so. To hear he'd achieved over eighty percent exceeded any expectations he'd ever had for this new medicine. He and his parents celebrated passionately, even emailing the drug company to thank them for developing a miracle.</p><p>Bucky visited on day five of the trial, and Steve had never been happier to see him and tell him all about the magic this drug worked on his system. "It's like nothing I've ever felt before," Steve said dreamily.</p><p>"I'm so happy for you," Bucky said sincerely. Steve made to stand up and hug his best friend, but all of a sudden he found his legs felt weak and shaky. He pushed himself halfway to his feet before he fell back onto the bed. Bucky eyed him worriedly, "You okay?"</p><p>"I think so," Steve said. He tried again, more carefully this time, and managed to get to standing, albeit shakily. However, when he tried to step forward, he shook like a newborn foal and would have collapsed to the ground if Bucky didn't catch him.</p><p>"Whoa. What's going on?"</p><p>"I don't know," Steve admitted.</p><p>"Do we need to call a doctor?"</p><p>They probably should, but Steve wanted to wait a little longer to make sure he didn't raise a false alarm and waste anybody's time. He decided to wait and see if the feeling persisted. "I'll see if it goes away."</p><p>"Okay." Bucky sounded hesitant, but he didn't argue. He took a seat beside Steve and fell silent.</p><p>"Could you grab my sketchbook?" Steve asked. Bucky handed him the book and a pencil and Steve flipped to a blank page, wanting to draw a pair of lungs to celebrate this feeling. He tried to wrap his right hand around the pencil and found his grip strength to be nonexistent. It fell from his hand and clattered onto the blank page. Steve reached for it again, but his hands wouldn't obey his commands and they trembled as if they were freezing cold.</p><p>"Steve," Bucky said gravely.</p><p>"I don't know what happening," he croaked. Bucky summoned his parents back, and they took one look at Steve's attempt to stand up and summoned the doctors. A battery of neuromuscular tests found that he'd lost almost all the strength in his legs and hands, but identified no obvious cause. Steve was terrified. He couldn't walk and couldn't pick anything up without an insane amount of exertion and focus.</p><p>"Are there known neuro side effects with this new drug?" his mom asked Dr. Erskine.</p><p>He shook his head. "None of the trials identified any side effects like these. I've never seen this kind of reaction before." Unable to decipher anything more himself, Erskine brought in a neurologist, Dr. Wong. He took one look at Steve and his list of symptoms and prescribed two days of EEG monitoring. They stuck a bunch of little disks to his head with adhesive and connected wires to them to monitor his brain waves. Steve spent two days looking like an alien, only for them not to find anything of note, and the symptoms were only getting worse. He lost vision in his left eye for half an hour and nobody could tell him why.</p><p>Erskine decided to stop the drug. Steve's lungs reverted back to the way they felt before in barely more than a day, but the weakness persisted. Bucky visited again, and Steve admitted to him that he was terrified he'd never walk again. He hadn't even told his parents about that particular concern, trying to put on a brave face when they were clearly massively distraught over his condition. But he could always be honest with Bucky. His best friend sat and wrapped a comforting arm around him while he cried for half an hour. Steve couldn't even properly return a hug; his arms were so weakened.</p><p>The best thing that had ever happened to him morphed into the worst experience of his life. Just as the side effects began to abate at an agonizingly slow rate, Erskine suggested they try the drug again at a lower dose to see if they could get the good lung results without the side effects, and Steve enjoyed another week of breathing freely before the weakness and shaking struck again with even more force. "No more," he demanded. "I'm done." Breathing wasn't worth losing every other ability that mattered to him. The humiliation of ambling down the hallway with a walker and his mother hovering like he was a little kid just out of training wheels was worse than fifty percent lung function, probably worse than thirty percent. Steve just wanted out. Between the two trials of the drug, he'd been in the hospital nearly a month.</p><p>It took another two weeks after stopping the medication completely for him to even regain enough mobility to go home. He'd missed so much schoolwork, unable to hand write or even type notes for the Ancient One or complete his assignments from his school. "What if this is permanent?" he asked his dad desperately the fiftieth time he tried and failed to pick up a pencil.</p><p>"It's not permanent," Dad assured, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"How do you know? Nobody even knows what happened or what's wrong with me!"</p><p>"You just have to give it some time."</p><p>"How much?"</p><p>"I don't know," he admitted. Steve waited. And he waited. He practiced, trying to force his fine motor skills back into function, but nothing seemed to help. It was another two weeks before he could hold a pencil with any sort of confidence that he wouldn't drop it. He stared at his own hand in awe and excitement, noticing the conspicuous lack of any trembling. Snatching up his sketchbook, he tried to draw, but that was taking things too far too fast. His lines were shaky and all over the place, lacking the finesse and control that he'd honed since he was six. Despite this, he continued working, creating a picture unlike any he'd ever done before. The waviness gave it a blurry quality that he actually didn't hate. He stuffed the drawing in his folder as his official first post-drug trial piece.</p><p>Upon finally returning to school after a two-month absence, each of his teachers stared at him with a combination of pity and awe. Some of the students did it too, but the middle school was big enough that not everyone knew him well enough to even notice his absence. "Steve, are you okay? That's the longest you've ever been gone," Timmy said when they all sat down at lunch together. They'd all tactfully avoided interrogating him all morning, but now that it was just the five of them apparently they decided to open fire.</p><p>"Yeah, I know," Steve sighed. "It was…a lot."</p><p>"Did the drug work?" Timmy questioned.</p><p>"Yes and no. It did wonders for my lungs, but it gave me crazy dangerous side effects," he explained. "I couldn't walk without assistance for like a month."</p><p>"That's insane," Jim remarked.</p><p>"I'm so sorry," Gabe said.</p><p>"Thanks. I'm okay now. Sometimes I have a little trouble standing up from a chair, but once I'm up I'm good."</p><p>"That's good."</p><p>"Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" Steve asked.</p><p>"Jasper got suspended for a week a while ago."</p><p>"Why? What'd he do?"</p><p>"Alex wheedled his way out of taking the blame for a fight he started, and Jasper took the fall."</p><p>"Who were they fighting?" Steve questioned. He could tell from the group's collective hesitation that he wasn't going to like the answer. Steve sighed, exasperated. "Was it you, Bucky?"</p><p>Bucky nodded. "They were talking shit about you and spinning all these stupid, horrible theories about why you weren't at school. I told them to mind their own business, and they came after me."</p><p>"Bucky, I've told you a hundred times that you don't have to defend me."</p><p>"In my defense, I tried to stop him," Jim insisted.</p><p>"Steve, you weren't there. You didn't hear the things they said. You would have done the same thing if you heard them talking about one of us like that."</p><p>He knew Bucky was right, but that didn't make him feel any better. The knowledge that his best friend stuck up for him even in his absence sat heavy in his chest. "You didn't get in trouble for fighting, too, did you?"</p><p>"No. This time, there were about a dozen eye witnesses corroborate that they started it. I was just defending myself. And your honor, of course."</p><p>"Assholes," Gabe muttered. "They got off easy, if you ask me."</p><p>"They always do," Timmy sighed.</p><p>"I'm surprised they punished him as severely as they did," Bucky commented.</p><p>"I mean, it would be nice if they actually nailed Alex for once," Jim said. "But I'll take what I can get. They're much tamer when they're not all three together."</p><p>"Does the same apply to you guys when I'm not around?" Steve asked.</p><p>"Well, our average respiratory strength obviously goes up a bit," Bucky stated, "But no. If anything, we're wilder without you here to keep us in line."</p><p>"Good thing I'm back, then."</p><p>"For sure."</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve finished out his first year of middle school without any more hiccups in his CF journey. That summer, his family and the Barnes went to the beach together, and Steve encouraged his mom to document that trip with more photos than ever. He wanted to remember it in as much detail as possible. After that, Bucky left for Camp McCoy for three whole weeks and Steve spent his days drawing and spending time with Jim, Timmy, and Gabe when they were available. Seventh grade started out great, but Steve battled colds and sinus infections practically nonstop from December through March. He avoided going inpatient by the narrowest of margins, but he missed out on movie nights, snowball fights, and after school hangouts with his friends. What got him through was commiserating with Brian over video chat. The two of them hadn't met in person since that summer at Gravesen, Brian having moved back to England not long after, but they stayed in touch—and occasionally played digital Pictionary.</p><p>"How are you?" Brian asked after they exchanged small talk.</p><p>"Well, I've stayed out of the hospital," Steve said. "But it hasn't been easy."</p><p>"Tell me about it. I've been on four treatments a day for the past month and a half."</p><p>"Really? That sucks. They just gave me permission to go back to two, but I'm still doing nasal rinses for sinuses that refuse to clear."</p><p>"Yuck. Hope that clears up."</p><p>"Are you finding it easy to keep up with treatment and schoolwork?"</p><p>"Easy? Probably not. But it's doable."</p><p>"Yeah, I'd say the same. It's just frustrating to have so much less free time to hang out with friends."</p><p>"Agreed. My mates went into London last week and Mum wouldn't let me go because she's afraid of germs."</p><p>"She should be; germs are scary," Steve said genuinely.</p><p>"Yes, but I don't want to make every decision in life based on fear. You've got to make room for some other feelings, right?"</p><p>"Yeah, I guess so. But when it comes to CF moms, fear usually rules the roost."</p><p>Brian laughed. "I suppose it's even worse for you, since your mum's a nurse."</p><p>"Yeah. But it also means she's certified to access my port, so we don't need to go in or hire someone to get it flushed every month."</p><p>"That's definitely a perk. I'm still going strong with PICC lines whenever I go in, but how's the port working out for you?"</p><p>"It's great. One needle poke and I'm set for the round. Although, it is a little harder to wrap the site for showering than with a PICC."</p><p>"I suppose you can't wear the always-stylish sawed-off sock over your arm to keep you from picking at it."</p><p>Now it was Steve's turn to laugh. "No. Although I can't say I miss that."</p><p>"What else are you supposed to do with socks you outgrow?"</p><p>"I think we donate them. But I usually wear holes in socks before I outgrow them, so they just end up getting tossed."</p><p>"Poor socks." Brian turned to look at something off screen. "I'm afraid I'm being summoned. See you later."</p><p>"Bye," Steve called. After he hung up, he sighed with a sense of catharsis that only came from conversations with Brian. He was the only person Steve had ever met who truly understood the hardships of CF life.</p><p>~0~</p><p>"It's always so cold in here," Steve complained. The school's cafeteria had notoriously bad heating and he'd neglected to wear a sweatshirt to school under his winter jacket. Even wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, he had goosebumps.</p><p>"Here." Jim handed Steve his sweatshirt which he'd cast aside earlier. The kid was practically immune to the cold, wearing shorts well into winter without any discomfort.</p><p>"Thanks." Steve pulled the garment over his head and threaded his arms through, grateful for the extra layer. No longer distracted by the temperature, he returned to eating his lunch and the group discussion of their math teacher's latest attempt to reteach a concept they'd all failed to understand on their last test.</p><p>"I seriously don't understand why he can't just skip it," Timmy said.</p><p>"They can't skip anything because all of next year's curriculum builds off of what we learn this year," Gabe explained. "The high school teachers will come after him if he fails to lay the framework properly."</p><p>"I feel bad. He's tried three…different methods…and none of them…work any better." Steve's guts twisted painfully with the realization of what was about to happen. He unfortunately recognized this feeling, however couldn't discern a reason for it to be happening to him now. There were no animals in sight; Steve knew better by now. His hands reflexively moved to his chest in a futile attempt to stop it from tightening up. Glancing down, he identified his fatal mistake. Jim had a dog, and the sweatshirt Steve had just borrowed had hairs stuck to it inside and out. He must have breathed some of it in when he put it on.</p><p>"Steve…" All four of his friends stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Only Bucky had the sense to do something about it. He helped Steve to stand and raced him to the nurse's office where his school inhaler was kept at all times. By the time they got there, Steve was breathing through half a straw and his vision was tunneling. The nurse took one look at him and snatched his rescue inhaler from the correct drawer. Steve knew the drill, and he waited for the relief which was supposed to come with the medication.</p><p>It never came.</p><p>He took a second puff, and by the time he was certain that one also failed to help he was too dizzy to hold the inhaler up to his face. Bucky stood in front of him, attempting to coach him into drawing more effective breaths, but Steve, despite all his training in how to breathe, physically could not work air into or out of his stupid lungs. The nurse was on the phone, eyes flitting frantically between Steve gasping for air and her desk. When Steve started to slump forward, Bucky caught him and forced him to sit upright. He knew it was the best position from which to get air, but he was so exhausted that he couldn't hold it on his own. The room around him swam in and out of focus, but he zeroed his gaze in on Bucky's panicked face. As he felt himself fade, he thought about Bucky's reaction the last time he witnessed one of Steve's asthma attacks. He didn't want to be the cause of his best friend's nightmares again. An apology formulated in his head, but he didn't have nearly enough air to speak it into existence. Bucky's face was the last thing he saw before he blacked out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Due to cliffhanger and approaching holiday, there will be a bonus chapter this week as my gift to you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. An Empty Tank</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He woke up. The last thing he remembered was thinking that might not happen. But here he was, awake, and therefore alive. That was good. However, the sensation of an endotracheal tube in his mouth was decidedly not good. He could tell he was anesthetized enough that the tube didn't trigger a reflex to cough it up, but he could still tell it was there and he didn't like it. The last time he had one had been years ago after his last out-of-control asthma attack, and he vaguely recalled sobbing after it was pulled out and begging for it to never happen again. Clearly, those prayers had not been answered, because here he was again.</p><p>"Steve?" His mother's voice, fraught with lack-of-sleep and intense relief, drifted into his awareness. He angled his head slightly towards the sound and blinked heavily to get his eyes to focus. There she was, smiling despite red eyes that indicated she'd spent quite some time crying. Over him. He'd promised to be careful, and he'd broken that promise and sent everyone he loved spiraling. Of course Jim's sweatshirt would have dog hair on it, he should have realized that before he put the stupid thing on. If he'd just been man enough to handle another fifteen minutes of being cold, he wouldn't be here, and his mom wouldn't be looking at him like he'd just risen from the dead.</p><p>"Oh, thank God," she said, grasping his hand and squeezing it. Steve squeezed back and did his best to offer a smile to reassure her. "I love you," she muttered.</p><p>"I love you too." The words were <em>right there</em>, begging to be uttered, but he could only stare in silence and hope she understood. He worked his jaw around the tube, the best way he could devise to ask the most important question on his mind right now.</p><p>"They've been trying to wean you off for a few days, but the attack rendered your lungs so weak they're just being a little slow to take up their full job again," she explained. Steve's eyes widened at the realization of how much time had passed. A few days? Last time, he'd only been intubated for one. Mom understood the panic in his expression, as she ran a loving hand through his hair and promised, "It'll be alright. You just need to rest." Steve nodded, already feeling sleepy even though he'd only been awake for a few minutes at most. He drifted off with his mother's fingers still carding gently through his hair.</p><p>~0~</p><p>They finally pulled the tube two days later, after Steve officially passed the necessary tests. Despite ample warnings from the nurse, Steve was woefully unprepared for the sheer awfulness of extubation. "Cough," he was told, and he instantly obeyed. As he coughed, the nurse slid the tube through his throat and it popped out accompanied by a thick string of saliva that stuck to his chin. For a frightening few moments, he forgot how to breathe entirely, gasping and coughing in a futile attempt to draw air into his lungs. "Come on, Steve, breathe for me," the nurse prompted. "You got this." Finally, he gulped down a reasonable lungful of air and the panic abated. He only experienced a second or two of complete freedom before an oxygen mask was pressed against his face. Steve wanted to resent it, but he knew his own lungs well enough to recognize that he needed the extra help. Now that his throat was free, he wanted to speak every thought that had popped into existence since his awakening, but the doctors warned him not to overdo it. He said to his parents, "I love you," and those three little words hurt badly enough that he would have elected to stop there, if it weren't for the importance of another thought that sat at the forefront of his mind.</p><p>"Bucky?"</p><p>"We've been keeping his family updated," Mom explained. "He visited while you were still asleep, and I'm sure he'll come back now that you're up."</p><p>Steve nodded. He hoped Bucky wasn't eaten alive by worry, but he knew that if he'd seen Steve unconscious and intubated, it was unlikely he had much peace of mind. Neither did Steve, frankly. The fact that he'd been on a ventilator for so long unnerved him. So did how breathless he felt after doing even the minutest of tasks. Even on his sickest days, he hadn't felt like his lungs failed him this miserably.</p><p>Bucky and his mom visited just as Steve gained the stamina to hold up an end of a conversation without feeling like he was going to pass out. The pure, wild-eyed terror in Bucky's eyes when he caught sight of him was enough to make Steve want to hide under the sheets. "I'm so glad you're…alive," Bucky declared, looking close to tears. "When it happened, I—I was afraid you might not be."</p><p>"Yeah, I'm alive," Steve restated. He still felt like death warmed over, but he was confident he would survive. "Thanks to you." If Bucky hadn't ushered him to the nurse's office when he did, Steve might have collapsed in the hallway and things could've turned out differently.</p><p>"Thanks to me? I didn't do anything."</p><p>"Yes you did. You kept me…focused," Steve said slowly.</p><p>"Well, I tried my best not to just stand there and flounder while the nurse called nine-one-one."</p><p>"You were great."</p><p>"It certainly didn't feel like it." Bucky sighed and hopped up to sit on the foot of the bed, facing Steve, like they often did. Steve tucked up his legs to give Bucky more room. "Jim feels horrible, by the way. It took some convincing to get him to stop believing he'd be charged with criminal negligence."</p><p>"Not his fault."</p><p>"He would disagree. He gave you that sweatshirt."</p><p>"And I accepted it. My responsibility, my lungs, my fault."</p><p>"Steve, none of this is your fault. You can't help it that you're…"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Sensitive?" Bucky suggested. He was trying to describe Steve's condition without condescension.</p><p>"It's my job to be careful."</p><p>"And as your friends, it's our job to look out for you too. You don't have to do this all alone."</p><p>"I'm not alone. You're here." That comment did bring a half smile to Bucky's face, which Steve considered a win. "What's the rumor mill churning out?" he asked, wondering what people were saying about him at school. People must have seen him start wheezing at lunch and heard the ambulances.</p><p>"Well, most of the school knows you have CF and assumed it had something to do with that. There's only a few clueless ones, but some of them are pretty funny."</p><p>"Tell me."</p><p>"I've heard choking, anaphylactic shock, and—most notably—that it was a poisoning attempt."</p><p>"By who?"</p><p>"Alex."</p><p>"People think Alex tried to poison me?"</p><p>"I only heard whispers in the hallway, but the rumor is definitely out there. I don't know who started it or why, but I don't think Alex will take any heat for it. A few people have given him funny looks, but no one's going to report him on nothing but a rumor of attempted murder. It proves nothing except that people are suspicious of him."</p><p>"Pity."</p><p>"We know by now it's impossible to nab him. He's too careful, and his dad can cover up just about anything."</p><p>"I know. But it's nice to imagine that one day he might see karma for being an asshole."</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve gained strength over the next several days, albeit slowly. Dr. Erskine checked his PFT, and Steve tried as hard as he possibly could to get a good result. He blew so hard that he nearly passed out, but the results didn't lie. The asthma attack had devastated his baseline lung function, which wasn't even that good to begin with. Worst of all, they still hadn't gotten him off supplemental oxygen. He'd graduated from mask to nasal cannula, but every time they lowered the rate past a certain level, Steve's oxygen saturation dipped. When even more days of recuperation and therapy failed to get his lungs back to performing satisfactorily, Steve's team told him that, barring a miracle, he'd be leaving the hospital on oxygen.</p><p>Upon hearing that news, Steve lost it. Until now, he'd been able to pretend that he would bounce back from this just like he had with every setback in the past. But evidently, this had put him over the line. Neither his mother's placations nor his dad's reasoning could calm him. Steve ripped the pulse oximeter off his finger because if no one could see the numbers then no one could tell him that his lungs could no longer support him without constant aid. Of course that triggered an alarm, and it was returned to its proper place where it told everybody that Steve's forceful sobbing had rendered his sats in the low eighties. No wonder he felt faint.</p><p>It was only that faintness and exhaustion that eventually calmed him down. In this state, Steve physically could not manage to maintain a tantrum any longer. After further evaluation, they found that he could manage sitting still for a while without his sats dipping dangerously low, but with even minimal activity he needed the extra oxygen. Lying down, even at the thirty degree angle he already slept at because of his tube feeds, proved to restrict his lungs enough that he needed the supplement then too. They tested him thoroughly to determine the exact rate he would need at rest and while sleeping. Prescriptions were written, arrangements made, equipment purchased, and Steve was released from the hospital to return home to a bedroom that looked more like a hospital room than ever.</p><p>He <em>despised</em> it.</p><p>His nose dried out to the point of discomfort from the constant airflow, and he was hyperaware of the tubing draped across his face. Every minute or so, he found himself reaching up to readjust it. In the past, he'd at least been able to look forward to eventually being free of the cannula when he recovered, but now he could only hope he got used to it quickly. The concentrator, a machine about the size of a mini fridge that converted the air in the room into oxygen, sat halfway between his bed and his desk. Whenever he was home, he remained connected to it via a seventy five foot tube that reached anywhere in the apartment. Both Mom and Dad tripped over it on a regular basis, a few times severely enough to wrench the cannula from Steve's face—which hurt, a lot—and the thing was always tangled. If he wanted to venture any further than home, he switched over to a portable cylinder he could roll behind him.</p><p>It was annoying to keep track of the thing constantly. His g-tube he only needed to handle twice a day, before and after overnight feedings, but he could ignore it otherwise. When he wasn't in the hospital on IV antibiotics, his port needed to be flushed once a month, but other than that it just existed beneath his skin and didn't bother him. But the oxygen was inescapable. Only the knowledge that he truly needed this prevented him from casting it aside. Besides, if either Mom or Dad caught him without it, they scolded him.</p><p>Steve was content to suffer alone in his room, but inevitably he had to return to school. His pile of make-up work loomed hauntingly high, and there was no medical reason for him to be absent any longer. Mom and Dad sent him back on a Wednesday so he wouldn't have to jump back into a full week. Steve was terrified. Never before had he paraded around the school wearing such a blatant badge of illness.</p><p>"Steve, I'm sure it won't be that bad," Dad assured him before sending him off that morning. He was wrong. It was just as bad as Steve had feared. Every single gaze, students' and teachers' alike, turned to him. Bucky and Jim did their best to distract him, but even their valiant efforts failed. Steve wanted to cry, but that would inevitably draw more attention. All morning, he forced himself to pay attention to his teachers and not the people failing to hide the fact that they were staring at him. It was exhausting.</p><p>He thought it couldn't possibly get worse, and then at the end of the day he ran into Alex.</p><p>Bucky bristled beside him, fully prepared to diffuse a physical confrontation. Steve accepted his fate and braced himself for an onslaught. Alex stared at him blankly, but his expression soon morphed into one of pity instead of derision. No words were exchanged, but nonetheless Steve got the message: "Not even <em>I</em> would stoop low enough to openly bully an invalid." He would've been less upset if Alex had insulted or made fun of him. Even hearing the stupid nickname Wheezy Smurf would've been better than silence.</p><p>"That was…unexpected," Bucky said once Alex was out of earshot.</p><p>"I hate him," Steve grumbled.</p><p>"Why? Because he finally <em>didn't</em> take advantage of an opportunity to belittle you?"</p><p>"Because he drew the line at visible illness. I'll bet he's patting himself on the back for being a good person because he didn't make fun of this." He gestured to the oxygen tank beside him.</p><p>"Well, if I were you, I'd accept that he's a lost cause and just be grateful that he doesn't want to bother you anymore."</p><p>"Just because <em>I'm</em> an invalid doesn't mean he won't bother any of you guys. I won't always be there to shield you with my pathetic-ness."</p><p>"Steve, you're not pathetic."</p><p>"Alex disagrees."</p><p>"And since when do you care what that asshole thinks?"</p><p>"Since he deemed me unworthy of his attention."</p><p>"Wait, are you seriously <em>asking</em> to be picked on? I'm sure if you asked, he'd be more than happy to continue to torment you."</p><p>"If I ask, then it's charity."</p><p>"Oh, I see. You want him to bully you of his own accord. You're insane."</p><p>"Alex was the one person I could count on to treat me normally after this," Steve snapped, turning so Bucky had a perfect view of the cannula. "Everyone else looks at me like I'm about to blow away."</p><p>"Even me?" Bucky croaked.</p><p>"Yeah. <em>Especially</em> you."</p><p>"Well it's hardly my fault I'm a little uneasy after watching you <em>stop breathing</em> in front of my eyes just because you borrowed our friend's sweatshirt."</p><p>"I get that I'm fragile, but could you please stop looking at me like I'm made of glass?"</p><p>"I'll try," Bucky promised. "But I'm just so scared for you all the time."</p><p>"You don't have to be. I'm fine now."</p><p>"But you're not," Bucky countered, gaze focused on what sat below Steve's nose instead of the blue-gray eyes above it. "And you're only going to get worse until one day…" he trailed off. Steve's anger diffused like the air out of a balloon as soon as he realized what Bucky was alluding to. Of course he would be scared, because every event that damaged Steve's lungs like this put him closer to the inevitable. Steve knew that CF ultimately reduced his life expectancy, but in the grand scheme of things he didn't think about it that often. He was too busy staying on top of meds, treatments, and tube feeds to worry about the day when those things weren't enough. But Bucky didn't have all that to distract him from the fact he'd made a best friend out of someone likely to live barely half as long as him. Just how many times had that thought crossed Bucky's mind since the asthma attack?</p><p>"I'm sorry," Steve exhaled. "You're right. And I hate that I gave you another reason to think about that."</p><p>"It's not your fault. And I totally get that you don't want to be treated differently because of this, and I promise I'll try to keep my fretting private."</p><p>"Thanks. Unless I'm actively in crisis like last time, then please fret all you want. It probably saved my life."</p><p>"I don't know about <em>that</em>."</p><p>"I'm serious. And, uh…if you ever want to talk about it—if you think talking to <em>me</em> would help at all—don't be afraid to bring it up."</p><p>"Are you serious?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I just might take you up on that."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"But not now," Bucky backtracked.</p><p>"Of course. I've still got a lot of work to do to catch up," Steve explained.</p><p>"You do that. I promised Gabe I'd look through the catalogue of high school courses with him and help him decide which electives to take."</p><p>"Is that already out?" Steve knew they were supposed to sign up for classes in January, but he thought it would be later in January than now.</p><p>"Oh, yeah. You missed the boring lecture where they took us through the process and talked about graduation requirements and all that jazz."</p><p>"It might be boring, but it sounds important."</p><p>"You can get all the same information on the internet," Bucky assured him.</p><p>"I'll add it to my to-do list."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am so excited for next chapter, you have no idea :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Electrical Misfire Waiting to Happen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anybody recognize this chapter title? If you do, then you know what time it is :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve turned a page in the book he was reading for English class when he heard his door open. "Steve, we need to talk." That certainly didn't bode well. Whenever Mom adopted that tone, she broached a topic Steve didn't want to discuss. What would it be this time?</p><p>"Sure," he replied, closing the book and standing from his desk to follow her to the kitchen, where all important discussions took place. Dad already awaited them. If both his parents were involved, this must be serious.</p><p>"What's happening?" he asked.</p><p>"Your mom and I have been thinking," Dad began, and Steve's stomach sank. He knew he wasn't going to like where this was going. "And we want to consider homeschooling you for high school."</p><p>"What?" Of all the possible difficult topics to discuss, this was the last one Steve expected. He'd had no idea that was even on the table, naively assuming he'd be going to Hudson Creek with all his friends.</p><p>"Hear us out," Mom implored.</p><p>"I don't really want to," he said matter-of-factly. "If I have any say in this, I will say no."</p><p>"Of course you have a say, but so do we, and there's a lot we have to consider."</p><p>Steve doubted they could tell him anything about starting high school that he didn't already know, but he knew he wouldn't get away with evading this conversation. "I'm listening."</p><p>"We have no way of knowing how much time you'll spend at Gravesen in the coming year, and it will be hard to keep up with your schoolwork if it's so inconsistent."</p><p>"I've managed that inconsistency so far. I can continue to manage," he avowed.</p><p>"Very well, but Hudson Creek is a much bigger school than any you've attended, and more people means more germs."</p><p>"I know how to wash my hands." He'd been practicing extra precautions when it came to germs his entire life.</p><p>"We know you do, but it's a risk we have to think about. It's also a lot bigger physically, which means a lot more walking, and your lungs are the weakest they've ever been."</p><p>"I know my limits," he insisted. "Just because I need a little extra air doesn't mean I'm an invalid."</p><p>"Of course not!"</p><p>"We never said you were an invalid," Dad assured.</p><p>"Then why are you treating me like one?"</p><p>"We're not. We're just thinking of ways to accommodate your needs."</p><p>"Have you ever asked <em>me</em> what my needs are?" They opened their mouths to respond, but Steve cut them off. "Don't try to tell me that you have, because you definitely haven't. You seemingly made up your minds about this already, and not until now did you even consult me."</p><p>"We haven't already made up our minds."</p><p>"Haven't you? If you haven't, then why am I having to push so hard to sway you in the other direction?" Steve's tirade had left him mildly out of breath, but it also rendered his parents speechless. They looked to each other, then at him, then back to each other before continuing.</p><p>"Tell us, then," Mom said. "What do you need?"</p><p>"I'm going to start with what I <em>don't</em> need. I don't need to be wrapped in cotton wool, and I don't need yet another thing to set me apart from everyone else my age. I don't need to sit at home with a private tutor or whatever while my friends go to classes together, complain about homework, get detention, and go to sports games. What I <em>do</em> need is to take advantage of every opportunity to be normal, because I don't know how many of those opportunities I'm going to get."</p><p>Having made his point, Steve stood and strode back to his room. If that wasn't enough to convince them to let him go, nothing would. He took three deep breaths to steady himself and called the only person he trusted to diffuse his anger.</p><p>"Steve, I was just about to call you," Bucky said urgently. "You're not going to believe what just happened."</p><p>"Likewise," Steve said.</p><p>"You go first," they both insisted. "No, you."</p><p>"Fine, I'll go," Bucky acquiesced. "My parents want to send me to private school."</p><p>"No way! My parents want to switch me to home school."</p><p>"No way!"</p><p>"Yes way. I threw everything I had to convince them otherwise, but I'm still waiting on a verdict. I just gave a passionate speech and stormed out like three minutes ago."</p><p>"What did you say?"</p><p>"Just how I need to act on opportunities to be a normal kid because I don't know how many I'll get."</p><p>"Man, that's deep. Please don't hate me for this, but I used a similar tactic."</p><p>"What did you do?"</p><p>"I told my parents I wanted to go to high school with you because I have to spend as much time with you as possible before…you know."</p><p>"Bucky, I'm not actively dying," Steve reminded him. Yes, being put on oxygen was a blow, but his decline had stalled and he was working on maintaining lung function and even regaining some of what he'd lost.</p><p>"I know, but it's hard not to worry about you one day not being there. Which is why we have to go to Hudson Creek together so you can be there to keep me and the guys in line."</p><p>"Bucky, you're going to make me cry," Steve said, eyes already burning. If his parents still decided to keep him home for school, he couldn't imagine how horrible he would feel every day knowing what he was missing out on. Fortunately, they came in mere minutes after he hung up and apologized for even considering taking that normalcy away from him. Both he and Bucky registered for classes at Hudson Creek along with all the other kids in their grade. And of course, they made sure to pick as many of the same courses as possible in the hopes their schedules would line up.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Like most eighth grade boys, they were chomping at the bit to finish the school year to have the greatest summer of all time before they started high school, when academics and activities got really serious. Steve and Bucky spent almost every single day with their friends, doing everything from playing video games, to shooting soccer balls for Bucky to practice goalkeeping, to getting lost in the city. On one memorable occasion, the five of them watched the movie Five Feet Apart, about the star-crossed love between two cystic fibrosis patients. Steve had no desire to see it, already embarrassed by how emotional he was bound to become, but Jim pestered him until he agreed. It was certainly an unlikely choice of film for a bunch of fourteen-year-old boys, but Steve figured their motivation to watch was situated mostly in teasing him.</p><p>Sure enough, he was the only one among them to cry. The movie's accuracy in portraying CF pleasantly surprised him, but predictably the conclusion and certain events in the middle affected him far more drastically than any of the others because of his life experience. Watching unearthed painful memories of Logan and Scott, but also some fond memories of ways he and Brian had devised to play together from a distance. "Forget Romeo and Juliet, this is the real star-crossed lover shit," Gabe said. Steve agreed wholeheartedly. In general, he believed the hospital was no place to kindle a romance. There were too many variables and the risk of having his heart broken was far too great. Making hospital friends was emotionally difficult enough; their struggles became his struggles and vice versa. Sometimes he wondered if it was even worth it.</p><p>~0~</p><p>Barely a few weeks into summer, Steve started to feel the symptoms of an exacerbation. He didn't want to be admitted for a tune-up, especially when his stay would encompass his birthday, but it was apparent they had no choice. His hospital suitcase stayed packed all the time now, so it didn't take long to prepare for departure. They put him in his usual room, 1217, and his parents helped with some unpacking before heading home for the evening. Steve knew this routine so well by now that he let his mind drift off while he worked.</p><p>"Is that an Uncle Sam poster?" a voice asked incredulously from the doorway. Steve startled and turned around, the poster slipping to hang crooked since he hadn't finished securing it.</p><p>"Uh…yeah," he stammered. The newcomer, a girl not much older than him wearing a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, waltzed in and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed.</p><p>"So you're prospective army?"</p><p>"N—No." He thought his physical appearance made it rather obvious that he could never be such a thing.</p><p>"Sucks, doesn't it?" she said knowingly.</p><p>"What does?"</p><p>"Wanting something you know you can never have."</p><p>"I guess so," Steve said warily. This girl made him uneasy; he was accustomed to boldly introducing himself to others, not the other way around. Steve decided to turn the tables and ask her, "Do you?"</p><p>"Do I what?"</p><p>"Want something you can never have," he clarified.</p><p>"I would sell my left lung on the black market for a real cup of coffee," she huffed. After giving him a cursory once-over, she continued, "But it looks like you already made a deal like that, huh?"</p><p>Steve's hand flew to the cannula across his face. He knew she was kidding, but he couldn't help but take offense at the comment. Who did she think she was approaching him so crassly? Well, they did say to fight fire with fire.</p><p>"I exchanged it for an ice cream cone, actually."</p><p>"What flavor?"</p><p>"Vanilla."</p><p>"Not worth it. I'd maybe give a kidney for vanilla, but a lung? I'd need at least fudge swirl to give that up. With sprinkles."</p><p>"You drive a hard bargain."</p><p>"Carol Danvers," she introduced. "Resident patient, former prospective Air Force Academy applicant, and electrical misfire waiting to happen."</p><p>"Steve Rogers, repeat offender," he reciprocated.</p><p>"Repeat offender? Here I was thinking I'd stumbled upon fresh meat."</p><p>"Sorry to disappoint, but this has been my second home for nearly a decade. You'd be hard pressed to find a single person here who doesn't recognize me."</p><p>"A decade? Impressive."</p><p>"Welcome to the world of the chronically ill," he shrugged. "How long have you been here?"</p><p>"Oh, about a week."</p><p>"And how long will you be staying with us?"</p><p>"As long as it takes," she sighed.</p><p>"To…?"</p><p>"To die."</p><p>"Well that's…morbid. Terminal cancer?" he asked. If that was the case she'd probably be in hospice at home or another facility, but maybe that hadn't been arranged yet.</p><p>Carol shook her head. "Heart transplant candidate."</p><p>"So you're here until they find a heart?"</p><p>"Ideally, yeah."</p><p>"But then you won't die."</p><p>"Well, I will be dead by most definitions of the word for the period between the removal of the first and the introduction of the second heart. They don't pull that sucker out still beating, you know."</p><p>"I figured. I just assumed you meant dead in a more…permanent sense, when you mentioned it the first time."</p><p>"Makes sense. I've always thought having a transplant is basically throwing Thanatos the middle finger. For a while you're missing a vital organ and you're his for the taking, but then they plop another one in and rip you from his clutches."</p><p>"Who's Thanatos?"</p><p>"Greek god of death," she explained curtly. "The malevolent being who ultimately takes us all."</p><p>"That's horrifying."</p><p>"Is it? I feel like it's better to personify it, as opposed to cowering in the face of some unknowable force."</p><p>"Carol, I hate to break it to you, but you need a hobby. You clearly have way too much time to reminisce about death."</p><p>"Is there an acceptable amount of time to spend reminiscing about death?"</p><p>"Yes. <em>None</em>."</p><p>"Alright. What do you do then, Rogers, to ensure you don't have time for reminiscing?"</p><p>He wavered at her use of his last name, but she said it so authoritatively, almost endearingly, that he couldn't bring himself to protest the nickname. She'd also wanted to join the military, so maybe this was her offering what little taste of it they could have.</p><p>"Well, Danvers, I like to draw," he replied. She smirked at his returning the gesture.</p><p>"You any good?"</p><p>"You tell me." He picked up his folder full of drawings he'd been about to put up on the wall and plopped it down on the bed. Carol strode over and started leafing through it. Steve watched her face carefully to gauge her reaction. Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly in the manner of someone impressed with what they saw.</p><p>"Who's this?" she asked, pulling out a drawing and turning it to show him.</p><p>Steve blanched. He hadn't even glanced at that since his last hospital stay, and the sight of it unearthed old, partially buried grief. "That's Scott," he mumbled.</p><p>"Your brother?"</p><p>Steve shook his head. "Just a friend."</p><p>"From here?"</p><p>He nodded. "Neuroblastoma patient. He—he died a few years ago."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Carol said, sounding genuinely sincere. Based on the course of this conversation, Steve hadn't been sure she was even capable of such emotion. "This drawing is pretty darn good, though. You've got talent, Rogers."</p><p>"Thanks."</p><p>"Do you draw all the friends you meet here?"</p><p>"I try to."</p><p>"Would you draw me?"</p><p>"Uh…sure." Carol sat down in one of the chairs beside the bed and looked up at him expectantly. "You mean now?" Steve questioned.</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"I was in the middle of unpacking."</p><p>"Your stuff's not going anywhere."</p><p>"Okay." Steve pulled out his sketchbook and a few pencils.</p><p>"A word of advice," Carol began.</p><p>"So you're an art expert now?" Steve said sardonically.</p><p>"No. This isn't about brush thickness or feathering technique. I was just going to say that you shouldn't draw what you see."</p><p>"What does that even mean?"</p><p>"Draw what you <em>want</em> to see," she said cryptically. Steve opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but Carol shut him down with a look. He sensed she wasn't going to offer any more words, so he just started drawing. From the first contact of his pencil with the paper, he knew exactly where he wanted to take this. Steve drew what he wanted to see, what he wished the universe had been kind enough to grant them. He glanced periodically to Carol's face for reference, and he could tell that she approved of the direction he was going. If she could make out the drawing upside down, he didn't know, but she must've seen the intention in his eyes.</p><p>She interrupted as he was about halfway finished, "Before you stupidly misinterpret anything that's going on here and inevitably make a fool of yourself, I need you to know that I'm not into guys."</p><p>The tip of Steve's pencil snapped off in his shock. He by no means was even leaning in that direction. They'd just met barely half an hour ago, for goodness' sake. "I—I wasn't suggesting anything like that," he stammered.</p><p>"I know you're not. Just covering my bases. Don't look so scared," she said with a chuckle. He shook himself and grabbed a new pencil to continue drawing. Their dynamic had stuttered with those comments, but they soon slipped back into companionable silence. There weren't many people that he could sit quietly with without it being awkward, but Carol evidently belonged to that group. When he finished, he was hesitant to show her, afraid that she wouldn't like it.</p><p>"Show me the goods," she insisted, and he ripped the page out to hand it to her. She stared at it without reacting at all for a solid thirty seconds before a grin slid onto her face. "Rogers, you've outdone yourself."</p><p>"Really?" he asked, the relief overly evident in his tone.</p><p>"Really. Somehow you even managed to make this look like my favorite fighter jet model."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I'm serious. You have a gift."</p><p>"Thank you. I'm glad you like it. You can keep it."</p><p>"No way. This belongs in your collection with your other Gravesen friends," she insisted, tucking the drawing neatly into the folder.</p><p>"Oh, okay." He expected her to want to keep it, but he was secretly glad she offered it to him. It was one of his best pieces to date. "Is there anyone else on the ward right now?"</p><p>"Nope. Clint left a few days ago. That's part of the reason I barged in here. I was desperate for the company of someone my own age."</p><p>"You got to meet Clint?"</p><p>"Yeah. Sweet kid. Tough, too."</p><p>"Yeah," Steve sighed. The poor kid had been coming here almost as long at Steve had, but for a disease that wasn't supposed to persist for that long.</p><p>"The Ancient One hates my guts because if I skip class she has nothing to do all day."</p><p>"What are you talking about? I'm pretty sure she teaches to an empty room anyway on days no one shows up," Steve snickered.</p><p>"You know what, you're right. I'll bet I could send a cardboard cutout of myself and she wouldn't know the difference." Once their laughter quieted, Carol stood and headed for the door, gesturing for Steve to follow. Her room stood right next door to Steve's. He knew from experience that the walls were thin enough to hear anything louder than normal conversation through them. Carol's room looked much the same as Steve's, without the airway clearance equipment that accompanied him everywhere he stayed overnight.</p><p>"I don't have cool sketches like you do, but I tried my best to make it homey," she said. Her wall was decorated with a few posters, one depicting different fighter jets and another with Fonzie from Happy Days. Besides that, the only personalization appeared to be an American flag patterned blanket folded at the foot of the bed. She invited Steve to feel it, and it proved to be the softest blanket he'd ever come into contact with.</p><p>"Wow," he muttered.</p><p>"I know, right?"</p><p>"I wish I had one of those, where'd you get it?"</p><p>"On clearance from a company that shut down shortly after I bought it."</p><p>"Why would they shut down if their product is so amazing?" he asked.</p><p>"I don't know. I'm just glad I got my hands on one before they stopped making them."</p><p>"Just saying, if this ever goes missing, I probably stole it."</p><p>"You know, burglars don't typically reveal their plans to the people they're planning to rob."</p><p>Steve rolled his eyes. He absent-mindedly ran his hand over the blanket for a little longer and then asked, "Have you seen the entire ward yet?"</p><p>"I think so. I've been to class and to the common room. Is there anything else?"</p><p>"There's a kitchen, but nobody really uses it."</p><p>"Understandable."</p><p>"It's actually a really nice kitchen. It's a pity it doesn't see much action."</p><p>"If this is your roundabout way of asking me to dinner; I already told you I'm not interested," Carol said with a sly smile.</p><p>"No!" Steve snapped, cheeks flushing bright red. He hadn't intended it like that <em>at all</em>.</p><p>"I'm just kidding," she assured him. "Man, you're an easy mark. But I do want to see this nice hospital kitchen, and I'd love you to show me the way."</p><p>"Oh…okay." He showed her the route to the kitchen, which really was far too nice to exist within a hospital. It looked like stepping into one of those hardware store displays, with stainless steel appliances, cherry cabinets, and elegant granite.</p><p>"This is so…incongruous," she remarked.</p><p>"Yep," Steve sighed. A couple times his mom had made him grilled cheese in this kitchen, but that was all he could remember. He felt kinda bad for it, even though he knew a kitchen couldn't experience emotions. It was a shame to let such a beautiful space sit unused for weeks at a time. "It's fully stocked, too," he pointed out. Even the pots, pans, and utensils were nicer than what he had in his own home. He'd theorized about this kitchen before and the best explanation he could come up with was that some rich food connoisseur had donated to Gravesen on the condition it be used for culinary purposes. As if the thing sick kids needed most was gourmet food.</p><p>"If you've never used it, how did you even know it was here?" Carol asked.</p><p>"I pretty much know my way around the entire hospital," he explained. "When you come here for long enough and take a lot of walks for respiratory therapy, you get to know every nook and cranny."</p><p>"Cool. Are there any secret doors?"</p><p>"Not that I've found, no," he sighed.</p><p>"Pity." She idly opened and closed doors for a few moments. "Do you show all the new patients around?"</p><p>"If I'm around to do so, then yeah. I like to give new patients tours to help them feel less like a fish out of water, you know?"</p><p>"You are quite the Boy Scout, aren't you Rogers?"</p><p>Steve shifted his weight awkwardly, unsure what she meant by that comment. He'd never joined the Boy Scouts between his lack of interest and his lack of adaptability to activities like camping. "What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned.</p><p>"Just that you're a good Samaritan and all that. You seem like the kind of guy people would want to be their neighbor when they're stuck in the hospital."</p><p>"Thanks?"</p><p>"It's a compliment," she clarified.</p><p>"Okay. It's getting close to curfew; we should probably head back."</p><p>"And he obeys curfew too! A real poster child."</p><p>"Watch it Danvers; I know where you live."</p><p>"Is that a threat? Because I'm going to be honest, it's really hard to be scared of a thirteen-year-old boy when I essentially have a ticking time bomb in my chest."</p><p>"I'm fourteen," he countered. Almost fifteen, actually, but he didn't want to reveal that he'd be spending his fifteenth birthday here in the hospital in just a few days. Right now they stood on equal footing, and he didn't want to tip those scales and turn himself into an object of pity. Before they went their separate ways, they exchanged phone numbers. Just before he turned in for the night, Steve texted Carol for the first time: a picture of his wall of drawings with the sketch of her smack dab in the middle.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>She's here, folks! By this point, you've met Carol multiple times. But you haven't really met Carol until you read these next seven chapters. In all seriousness, these next few contain some of my favorite scenes out of all the prequels.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Holiday in a Hospital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As we're getting closer to the home stretch of Steve's prequel, I've started really challenging myself to get going on Clint's since it's the next sizeable story I have to finish. Since we don't have the Hawkeye series yet, there's not a ton of canon backstory for me to go off of, so it's been a slow start figuring out how I want his story to proceed. However, I finally have a solid idea of what I want it to look like and it's going to be a little different than the other prequels. But I think this format is fitting given the course of Clint's journey. As of now it stands at about 8k words and climbing. I just have to finish his and Tony's and then it's sequel all the way! I'm very excited. Now, back to this story. I love this chapter. You'll see why :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day, Bucky came to visit before he departed for Camp McCoy. Steve had just finished his second vest treatment of the day when his friend knocked at his door. "Come in," Steve called as he unbuckled and set the vest aside.</p><p>"Hey," Bucky greeted. He'd slapped his visitor's sticker on his left upper arm. Steve wondered if Happy had given him a hard time because he couldn't read it when facing him. Bucky had complained about being accosted by the nurse before, and Steve assured he was just paranoid. "How are you?"</p><p>"Pretty good, all things considered." He knew it would take a while for the exacerbation to ease, but the first few breathing treatments had him feeling the right sort of improvement in his lungs. By now he understood intimately where his baseline stood; it had steadily fallen over the course of his life as repeated infections scarred his airways, but that was inevitable in CF patients. He remembered the devastation when he blew a pulmonary function test that showed his lungs were functioning at only seventy five percent. Now he <em>wished</em> he could do as well as seventy five percent on a PFT.</p><p>"Is there anyone else here? It seems kinda deserted," Bucky remarked.</p><p>"Clint was discharged about a week ago, I think. I'm not sure when he'll be back. But there's a girl around our age next door. Her name is Carol and she's pretty cool."</p><p>"A pretty cool girl as your only companion. That sounds better than where I'm heading."</p><p>"Camp can't possibly be that bad, can it?"</p><p>"Steve, you don't understand, they're crazy out there. Last year, some guys and I loaded our CIT's mattress with acorns and left the cabin window open. He woke up in the middle of the night screaming, covered in squirrels. I'm a CIT this summer, which means I'm a target."</p><p>"Nobody's going to prank you if you get them to like you," Steve pointed out.</p><p>"Do you know how hard it is to get a bunch of nine and ten-year-olds to like you? They're hardwired to resent authority figures."</p><p>"I find bribery works wonders." Steve and Bucky turned to the doorway, where Carol had once again snuck in.</p><p>"Oh hey, Danvers. This is my friend Bucky," Steve introduced. "Bucky, this is Carol from next door."</p><p>"The cool girl?" Bucky questioned. Steve elbowed him sharply in the side.</p><p>Carol glanced suspiciously between the two of them, but didn't comment. "Nice to meet you, Bucky. I just dropped in to ask Steve if he was coming to class."</p><p>"Oh, is it time already?"</p><p>"Wait, you guys still do school over the summer?"</p><p>"Yeah. Some of us miss so much real school that we have to make it up somehow," Carol explained. "Plus, it gives us something to do."</p><p>"I'm coming, just give me a few minutes." She nodded and ducked out, leaving Steve to spend his last moments with Bucky before not seeing each other for a month.</p><p>"Happy early birthday, Yankee Doodle," Bucky told him. "I'm sorry I'm not going to be here to celebrate in person."</p><p>"Thanks. It's fine. I don't think I'm going to celebrate it anyway, it seems awkward to do that when there's only one other kid here. I have something else in mind."</p><p>"Oh yeah? You'll have to tell me all about it. Now that I'm a counselor in training, I get more phone freedom."</p><p>"Will do," Steve promised. "I'm gonna miss you."</p><p>"I'm gonna miss you too." Bucky finalized his goodbye with one of his patented hugs, careful of Steve's accessed port. As he headed out of the ward, Steve headed to class. The Ancient One was by no means a bad teacher, or even a particularly boring one. But in a class of only two teenagers who, because they were ill, needed even more sleep than the average teens, it was a lot to expect them both to remain awake and attentive through a lecture on the reign of King Louis XVI. Steve, much to his pride, had never actually fallen asleep in class in all his time here, but the same couldn't be said for Carol. She was an expert at it, though. Steve suspected she'd been sneakily falling asleep in class since elementary school; that's how good she was. Her chin rested perfectly balanced on her hand, and she even periodically switched hands without waking up.</p><p>Steve was equally bored; he much preferred American history to French, but he couldn't get away with dozing off like his friend beside him could. Pretending to take notes, he instead pulled out his sketchbook, flipping through drawings of Bucky, Jim, Gabe, Timmy, Brian, and even one of Nurse Peggy. Some of them he did from memory, others from looking at the subject in front of him and working in real time. Carol was still enough that he could use her for reference on this piece. He took extra care with the swoop of her hair over her shoulder and the curl of her fingers around her cheek. Fortunately, he finished that part before she masterfully switched her head to the other hand without waking.</p><p>"Class dismissed," the Ancient One announced. Carol opened her eyes without jolting awake, and their teacher gave no indication she was aware of Carol missing ninety percent of the lesson.</p><p>"What'd I miss?" she asked Steve.</p><p>"Nothing much," he replied. "But I wasn't exactly paying attention either." Turning the book around so she could see his work, he watched her reaction carefully.</p><p>"Rogers, you never cease to impress. Seriously, you could make a career out of this."</p><p>"You think so?"</p><p>"For sure. I took a high school art class, and even my teacher couldn't draw as well as you can."</p><p>"That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration."</p><p>"It's definitely not," she assured. "Are you coming to see the dogs?"</p><p>"I can't. I'm severely allergic," he informed her.</p><p>"That's too bad. You mind if I still go?"</p><p>"Of course not. Don't let me stop you." They parted, and Steve had barely sat down for two minutes when his phone buzzed with a FaceTime request from Carol. Wondering what the hell this could be about, Steve swiped to answer.</p><p>"Since you can't come to therapy dog day, I thought I'd at least give you a taste of the experience," Carol explained as she propped her phone against the wall and backed up so Steve could see her and both of the dogs that immediately snuggled up against her.</p><p>"That's very kind of you," Steve replied. He'd always hated having to sit out when the therapy dogs visited, but no one had ever thought to do something like this for him.</p><p>"This is Rocket and Groot." She gestured to each dog in turn. "Until you showed up, they were my best friends here."</p><p>"Good thing I'm here, then."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Do you have any pets at home?" he asked.</p><p>"I have a cat. His name is Goose."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I didn't know my animals when I was little."</p><p>"Really? You thought your cat was a goose?"</p><p>"I'm not proud of it, but yes. My parents thought it was so cute that they didn't bother to correct me, and the name stuck."</p><p>"Quick, what's the name of the farm animal that clucks and lays eggs?"</p><p>"I know my animals <em>now</em>, Rogers."</p><p>"I need a correct answer."</p><p>"Chicken." Both dogs immediately perked up at the word, and Steve and Carol laughed until their chests hurt.</p><p>"That's all the therapy I'll ever need."</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve was born on the fourth of July. Bucky made fun of him for it every single year without fail. He knew Carol would too, so he refrained from telling her. He didn't exactly want to celebrate his birthday in the hospital, but it was also a national holiday, one that he found rather important. Steve started planning on the first of July, and he recruited his parents to go shopping on the second. Just because he didn't want to acknowledge his birthday didn't mean he didn't want to have fun. His family and the Barnes usually got together on the fourth to celebrate, and Steve went out with his friends the weekend before or after. None of that could happen this year, but Steve was determined to make <em>something</em> happen.</p><p>His parents loaded everything into his room after curfew so Carol wouldn't see, and Steve inventoried everything they'd gathered. The next morning, he outlined his plan to all the nurses on shift that day, hoping to receive at least their permission if not their help. "Steve, I think all of that sounds great, except for one thing," Peggy told him. "You absolutely cannot play with sparklers for the same reason you can't smoke in a hospital."</p><p>"We'd go outside," he reminded her. Steve knew better than to suggest anything involving matches inside.</p><p>"It doesn't matter, the logic still applies. You use oxygen. Oxygen and flame don't mix."</p><p>"I can go without it for a little bit." He'd certainly done it before, and it wasn't like he'd be doing any strenuous activity.</p><p>"I don't think that's a good idea."</p><p>"Please?" Steve turned on as much 'pity me, I'm just a sick kid and it's my <em>birthday</em>' factor as he possessed in the hopes they'd relent.</p><p>Peggy and Sharon exchanged a glance, and the acquiesced. "Twenty minutes," Peggy said sternly. "And then we're dragging you back in."</p><p>"That's fair. Thank you so much." He turned to continue his preparation, but wheeled around at the last second. "One more thing. Could you not mention that it's my birthday when Carol's around? I want this day to be for both of us equally, not all about me."</p><p>"Alright. But she will figure it out," Sharon warned.</p><p>"No she won't." Not if Steve had anything to do with it.</p><p>On the morning of the fourth, Steve woke up with the change of shift at seven and got to work. After completing his morning treatments, he gathered some of the supplies his parents had acquired for him and set about transforming the ward from standard to festive. He adorned his and Carol's doors with portraits of American Revolutionary War generals and lined the entire hallway in red, white, and blue streamers. He stuck a poster version of the Declaration of Independence on the door of the common room, and covered the body of the central desk in stars with a bit of help from Peggy. Just as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, he heard Carol's door swing open.</p><p>"What the hell?" He expected more of a joyful surprise in her tone, not angry surprise. Steve headed back to the hallway to explain the plan for today, but she interrupted him before he could even begin. "Did you do this?"</p><p>"Yeah," he said sheepishly, unsure why she sounded mad.</p><p>"Without including me?"</p><p>"I wanted it to be a surprise."</p><p>"Well, you definitely managed that. But next time you take on a project, let me help you, okay? I don't want you to do all the work by yourself."</p><p>"Okay," he relented. The next phase of the plan, he could certainly use her help with. "Do you at least like it?"</p><p>"Of course! I expect this degree of festivity for Christmas, but I've never seen someone go all out for the fourth of July. Is it your favorite holiday or something? It <em>would</em> be your favorite holiday, Rogers."</p><p>"I wouldn't say it's my <em>favorite</em> holiday, but I like it."</p><p>"Nah, you're just embarrassed to admit it's your favorite holiday. That's fine. At least you're not loony enough to say Labor Day or some shit."</p><p>"Well, what's your favorite holiday?"</p><p>"Does Pride Month count as a holiday? Probably not. Well, then, I'd probably say Halloween."</p><p>"Because of candy, costumes, or scary movies?" Steve asked.</p><p>"All of the above, duh."</p><p>"Fair choice. The traditional fare for Independence Day is a little less sugar and a little more smoke, if you know what I mean."</p><p>"No. I have no idea what you just said."</p><p>Steve shook his head to force himself to stop saying stupid things. He'd been trying to segway into heading to the kitchen to cook and failed miserably. "Just follow me," he sighed, starting for the kitchen.</p><p>"Don't tell me you made an excuse to give the fancy kitchen some love."</p><p>"I did exactly that. And now, Danvers, I officially appoint you first mate of the kitchen," Steve said proudly, producing two aprons from where he'd stowed them earlier.</p><p>"It's not even lunchtime. I literally just woke up."</p><p>"We have a lot to do, and at some point I need an hour break for treatments."</p><p>"Fair enough."</p><p>"So you're in?"</p><p>"Yeah, I'm in. But I'm warning you, my experience in the kitchen extends to grilled cheese sandwiches and not much further."</p><p>"That's fine. I won't ask you to flambé anything."</p><p>"Good."</p><p>They didn't burn anything. Too badly. Steve's mom stayed to supervise, but mostly she was there to prevent kitchen disasters. They smoked pulled pork (that's what didn't burn too badly, but it was a near thing), sliced up the biggest watermelon Steve had ever seen, made green beans, and baked brownies from scratch.</p><p>When she pulled the can of green beans from the bag, Carol scrutinized the label and turned to Steve in awe.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You got low sodium," she stated bluntly.</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"But…you don't…"</p><p>"I don't what?"</p><p>"Eat that stuff."</p><p>"I can if I want to."</p><p>"Nobody <em>prefers</em> low sodium."</p><p>"But some people," he pointed at her with the spoon he was using to stir brownie batter, "Have to."</p><p>"You bought low sodium green beans for me."</p><p>"Well, technically, my parents bought them. But I provided the shopping list, and I underlined low sodium on said shopping list."</p><p>"You're insane."</p><p>"It's not common knowledge that cardiac patients have to watch their sodium intake?"</p><p>"No, Rogers, it's not."</p><p>"Why are we having this long a conversation about green beans?"</p><p>"Because you're an idiot."</p><p>"You started it. You could have just read the label and started cooking the darn things, but you had to make it a whole thing."</p><p>"Fine. I'll just cook the darn things." She dumped them into a pot and turned the stove on, making sure to elbow Steve standing beside her at the counter. Once those were on, she grabbed a fork and began meticulously removing every seed from the watermelon slices and making a pile out of them. Steve poured the batter into a pan and set it aside before he realized what she was doing.</p><p>"Danvers, you do know that the whole 'watermelon growing in your stomach' is a myth, right?"</p><p>"Of course I know that, I'm not stupid. I just hate the texture."</p><p>Steve shrugged, but he left her at it. He popped the brownies in the oven so they'd be baked and cooled by the time they were ready to eat them. The scent must have wafted down the hallway, because an unexpected visitor poked his head into the kitchen.</p><p>"What's going on here?" Dr. Lee asked curiously.</p><p>"Independence Day lunch," Steve answered.</p><p>"What a neat idea." He strode in and approached Carol, still working her way through the entire melon. Picking up another fork, he began helping. Carol paused, mortified that the president of the entire hospital was helping her deseed a watermelon. She opened her mouth to comment, but he was already so engrossed in the work that she let him be.</p><p>"My hands aren't as steady as they used to be," Dr. Lee remarked. "This is as close to performing surgery again as I'll ever get."</p><p>Carol nodded in understanding. Between the two of them, they removed all the seeds in twenty minutes, leaving a mountain of tan and black pellets on a plate next to the cutting board. Glancing at the massive pile, Carol smirked and turned to Steve asking, "Hey Rogers, can you spit a watermelon seed as well as you can hock a loogie?"</p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Steve had never done anything that could be called 'hocking a loogie' in his life.</p><p>"I asked if you could spit a watermelon seed—"</p><p>"I heard what you said, but I don't know what you're talking about. I don't hock, I huff cough."</p><p>"Same difference," she shrugged.</p><p>Steve rolled his eyes. "I will not spit watermelon seeds. That's unsanitary."</p><p>"Not <em>inside</em>, obviously. But maybe outside…"</p><p>Steve agreed, albeit reluctantly. After they ate, sharing with both of their parents and the nurses and doctors on duty, Carol marched Steve outside while carrying the plate of watermelon seeds. She demolished him easily. It wasn't even a contest.</p><p>"Did you want to do that just so you could show off?" Steve asked as they trudged back inside.</p><p>"Maybe," she said with a smirk. He led them back up to the pediatric residential ward and started for the common room. Steve opened the cabinet and dug through the DVD collection. "You're not going to make me watch some documentary about the Revolutionary War, are you?"</p><p>"No," he assured. "Although I do recommend listening to the Shot Heard 'Round the World from Schoolhouse Rock. It's a fun song."</p><p>"Only you." She flopped down on the sofa with a sigh. Steve popped the disc in and sat next to her as the movie, National Treasure, started playing. He'd seen it so many times that he practically had the thing memorized; it was as much a Rogers tradition to watch this on the fourth of July as it was to watch It's a Wonderful Life on Christmas. When they were little, he and Bucky used to act out the movie, writing up a fake Declaration to steal.</p><p>Carol added her sarcastic commentary the entire time, but Steve didn't mind, mostly because he already knew the film forwards and backwards. Listening to her joke and jibe washed away any sadness he still clung to about spending his birthday in the hospital. Honestly, everything they'd done today made this birthday just as special as any he'd had before. When the movie ended, Steve excused himself for breathing treatment round three for the day, but they rendezvoused just as the sun began to set to head outside again. Steve's dad brought the box of sparklers and matches outside, and he carted the oxygen tank back inside when Steve disconnected.</p><p>"Rogers, are you sure that's a good idea?" Carol asked.</p><p>"Oxygen and matches don't mix, so I only got permission for twenty minutes without it. As long as I just sit here and don't talk too much I'll be fine."</p><p>"Then shut up."</p><p>Steve rolled his eyes and handed her a sparkler, also taking one for himself. He lit them, watching the bright sparks shoot out like miniature fireworks. Carol started at hers completely mesmerized. "Have you ever done this before?" Steve asked.</p><p>"No. It's beautiful."</p><p>"Yeah," Steve agreed. They each went through three or four of them, just watching the light flicker and spit as the darkness around them grew. Around the fifteen minute mark he really started to notice the lack of oxygen, not so much that he worried he might pass out, but enough that it was perceivable. They finished up, doused the used sparklers in water, and disposed of them. After a quick stop for Steve to pick up his oxygen, he pressed the button for the top floor of the hospital and guided Carol to the nearest window. He'd done a little research and learned what time fireworks would begin, and convinced the nurses not to hold them to curfew just this once. The show was spectacular, colors lighting up the night sky in dazzling formations. Every time Steve thought it was the grand finale, they followed it with something even more magical. But when the actual finale occurred, Steve knew. Carol's eyes lit up with wonder just as wide as his own, and he mentally patted himself on the back for pulling off the best holiday-in-a-hospital he'd ever seen.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Looking back at how I characterized her, I realize Carol is basically the big sister I never had.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Forging of the Gauntlet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since this marks the first chapter of 2021, it's the perfect opportunity for me to provide an update on the current state of all the projects in this Gravesen Chronicles Universe. There are 6 more chapters of Steve's prequel, including this one. After that, I will publish "An Eye for An Eye" (4 chapters) and then "They Call Me Parker" (12 chapters).</p>
<p>Clint's prequel is coming along very nicely. I've been working on some Carol content recently, some that shows a bit of a different side of her, and I'm very excited about that. I can also confidently estimate the story coming in at about 6 chapters. It will combine a lot of the harsh medical realism of Natasha's prequel with some of the more light-hearted fun of Thor's. It also has a title now, drumroll. . . . . . . 2,175 Days. I know that title probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense by itself, but like all the titles, it will once you read the story.</p>
<p>And now the sequel. It has been a monumental task to continue the journeys of all the characters you've met in this universe, but it has also been the most fulfilling (and the most fun) project of my fanfiction career. The way forward is full of joys, challenges, tragedies, and clever nods to MCU canon. I am overjoyed to announce that at this moment, After Gravesen stands at over 180k words and consists of 62 chapters and counting. I know that's a lot to take in, but I'm covering a lot of ground in exploring so many characters' lives over the course of the 15 years following the events of Gravesen. I promise it will be worth a read (and worth the wait!)</p>
<p>Building off of that, I am working on a miniature project to accompany this gargantuan sequel. That's right, I'm cutting together a trailer! It's a little weird to think about a trailer for a story and not a movie/TV show, but it's basically going to be a collection of scenes from various points in the sequel that I cut and paste together. And I expect you to spit all your theories at me based on what you read in that trailer. I may or may not intentionally mislead you with the context that I choose to include or omit, but this wouldn't be a Marvel story if there wasn't some sneak peeks and theorizing leading up to the real deal. One final detail: since it is such a vast story, and any story I publish afterwards will only be a spinoff and not a continuation, in all likelihood I will post 3 chapters a week every week.</p>
<p>Thank you all for your continued support of my crazy ambitious ideas in expanding this alternate universe. It means the world to know that this series has such a dedicated and engaged fanbase, and I hope that following my stories is something that you continue to do as we move into this new year. Now, please enjoy what you actually came here for: this chapter :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve and Carol didn't discuss yesterday's adventures during school the next day, and the Ancient One gave no indication she noticed the entire ward had been decked out in red, white, and blue. He hadn't put any decorations in the classroom, afraid she would disapprove of her 'sanctum of education' being tainted, but she must've at least seen the central desk on her way in. Carol didn't fall asleep in class today, but she clearly wasn't paying attention to the lesson either. She looked way too happy to be internalizing information about the Reign of Terror in France.</p>
<p>"What are you thinking about?" Steve asked.</p>
<p>"Still patting myself on the back for beating my personal watermelon seed spitting record," she whispered back. Steve chuckled. After class, they walked out together, but he broke off towards his own room while Carol started towards the common room. "Are you leaving me for that vest again?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Yeah. I'm still on four times a day, but they might let me ease back to three in the next day or two," he explained.</p>
<p>"But it's so boring when you're gone."</p>
<p>"I'm sure you'll manage."</p>
<p>"Can't I just come back to your room with you?"</p>
<p>He generally didn't like doing his breathing treatments in front of anyone except his parents and Bucky because it was frankly awkward. Keeping up a conversation wasn't exactly easy with vibrations humming through your chest wall and the occasional glob of mucus working its way out of your lungs. However, if Carol genuinely wanted to accompany him, he supposed he could allow it. "Are you squeamish?" he asked. She shook her head. "I have to warn you it's not pretty. And I probably won't be doing much talking."</p>
<p>"That's fine," she assured. "I've seen it all before." Unsure what that second part meant, Steve shrugged and headed back to his room, Carol tailing him. He poured the meds into the nebulizer, made sure his book and little basin were within reach, strapped in, and turned it on. Carol, perched at the foot of his bed with her legs crossed, watched the proceedings with a calculating gaze.</p>
<p>He picked up his book and Carol peered at the cover. "Code Talker? I <em>loved</em> that book," she said. "We read it in school when I was younger." Steve's mom had bought him the book as an early birthday slash I'm-sorry-you're-in-the-hospital present and he'd thoroughly enjoyed it so far. It was about the use of the Navajo language as an uncrackable code during World War II. Carol quickly grew bored with Steve just sitting there reading, so she picked up some reading of her own: Steve's chart. She plucked it from its holder on the end of the bed and started idly flipping through. The blatant invasion of privacy should have made him uncomfortable, but he found he didn't actually care. He knew there was really nothing in that chart that he didn't mind Carol knowing. It was probably pretty boring in all honesty.</p>
<p>Carol flipped back to the first page and her eyes first widened in shock, then narrowed in anger. What did she read that could possible enrage her? Steve opened his mouth to ask what she'd seen, but she beat him to it. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"</p>
<p>Steve gazed back at her in utter confusion. What hadn't he told her that could make her react like this? His allergies? The feeding tube? "What?" he questioned.</p>
<p>"We spent all day yesterday celebrating, and not once did you mention it was your <em>birthday</em>." Oh. That. Steve shrugged; he didn't think it was that big a deal. "Rogers, you slaved over everything to make yesterday special when we should have been the ones working for you." He'd actually enjoyed most of the preparations, so it didn't even feel like working. Plus, he'd gotten to enjoy the fruits of his labor just as much as anyone else had. "I can't believe you let me just sit there and pretend to celebrate an essentially arbitrary date that they decided to call Independence Day when I should have been celebrating something way more important."</p>
<p>Steve coughed again and spit into the little basin. His birthday was not more important than Independence Day in his opinion and, frankly, he was shocked Carol thought it was.</p>
<p>"Can this wait?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Yes, but you're not getting out of this conversation," she said sternly. Steve thought she would leave the room and return when he finished, but she remained stubbornly planted at the foot of his bed, playing on her phone until the thirty minute treatment concluded. He unbuckled the vest and placed it back in its proper place, then turned to face the rest of Carol's lecture, or whatever this was. She raised her eyebrows at him and gestured for him to start explaining.</p>
<p>"Look, it's not a big deal," he began. She clearly didn't agree with the statement, but she let him continue. "I just didn't want to be the center of attention when you're the only other patient here."</p>
<p>"I'm sure if I went into cardiac arrest, they wouldn't wait for you to blow out your candles before coming to save me."</p>
<p>"I know that. But it's awkward when someone you just met has a birthday, you're not sure where you stand or how much you're expected to do for them, and I didn't want to put you in that position."</p>
<p>"You were afraid I would worry about how to treat you on your birthday?"</p>
<p>"Yes." That about summed up how he felt.</p>
<p>"Rogers, that is so stupidly chivalrous," she remarked. "You shouldn't make it your responsibility to protect your friends from potential mildly awkward situations."</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>"Because you shouldering that much of the burden is not fair to your friend. I can pull my own weight. And yours, but only if I have to."</p>
<p>Steve considered this, and she did make a good argument. Hiding the fact that it was his birthday was an unnecessary effort on his part. It would've been way easier to just allow the fact to slip out and let Carol handle it as she would. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."</p>
<p>"Apology accepted. Happy belated birthday Rogers."</p>
<p>Only now that he heard her say it did Steve realize he must've secretly been wishing she knew. It was one thing to spend his birthday in the hospital, but to try and ignore the occasion entirely really sucked. He should've suspected she would do more than just accept his apology, but it caught him off guard when she burst into his room later with a fake candle while singing "Happy Birthday." Trying to get her to stop was a wasted effort; she would not shut up until she finished the song and he pretended to blow out the candle. As far as birthdays went, Steve would probably place this one in the top three.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>"You know what I hate most about being sick?" Carol asked suddenly. She and Steve were working on the Ancient One's latest homework assignment, although that question told Steve Carol wasn't really paying attention to it. He needed to get this done, but he decided to humor her.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"How little control I have over everything."</p>
<p>"Yeah, that part sucks." Steve generally tried not to let his CF control his life, but the fact of the matter was his disease had the final say in what he could and couldn't do.</p>
<p>"I mean, as of now I don't even get to choose where I live or how I spend my time."</p>
<p>"You're a kid, you wouldn't get to choose where you live even if you were healthy," Steve pointed out.</p>
<p>"I guess you're right. But I got to choose where I went out on the weekends and stuff like that. Not anymore."</p>
<p>"Well, you do still get to choose how much you let that bother you. You can choose to think about it all the time and let it bring you down, or you can choose to think about things like your awesome friend Steve who you never would have met if you weren't sick."</p>
<p>"Shut up, Rogers. You ruined my perfectly good angst with your uplifting advice."</p>
<p>"Sorry. I didn't realize you were complaining and expecting me <em>not</em> to try and help."</p>
<p>"You're too good."</p>
<p>"There's no such thing," he countered.</p>
<p>"Oh no, there definitely is. There's always that guy who puts others' needs so far above his own that he suffers, but refuses to ease up until he either solves everything—which is impossible—or collapses under the weight of his own expectations. Are you that guy?"</p>
<p>"I hope not."</p>
<p>"I also hope not, but I have a sneaking suspicion you might be. Your answer to this question may or may not support this hypothesis."</p>
<p>"Shoot."</p>
<p>"Will you help me with something right now instead of finishing your homework?" she asked insistently.</p>
<p>Steve was almost done anyway, so he said, "Sure."</p>
<p>"Great. We're going to need six colors of cardstock, Velcro strips, a ruler, scissors, markers, and a laminator."</p>
<p>"This is a hospital, not an office supply store."</p>
<p>Carol shot him a crooked grin. "I know people."</p>
<p>An hour and a half later, they were elbow deep in a project she called "the gauntlet." She explained the idea to Steve while they worked; in a nutshell, it was a way to remind them of what they still had control over. Though they were the only two residents currently, they made the chart big enough for many more names in the hopes that kids would use it for years to come.</p>
<p>"Shouldn't the name slots be dry erase or chalk board so it can be removed if someone…you know, dies?" Steve asked.</p>
<p>"Absolutely not. Fallen warriors will remain on the gauntlet forever, just with all six aspects turned over to Thanatos. Erasing their name would be like pretending they never existed, and that's just disrespectful."</p>
<p>"Got it."</p>
<p>When they finished and hung the completed poster on the wall of the common room, Steve insisted Carol add her name first since the idea was all hers. He wrote his just below, and together they moved power, space, reality, and time over to Thanatos. They still held mind and soul and they would cling to those with all their strength for as long as they could.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>Steve sniggered at the picture Bucky had just sent him of the prank his campers pulled. He'd be spending the rest of the month of July in Wisconsin as a counselor in training, and based on this Steve understood why Bucky wanted to come home sooner. Bucky had never liked camp very much, but his dad essentially forced him to go every summer to 'build character.' Whenever he complained, Steve offered to trade, but for whatever reason Bucky didn't believe two weeks at Gravesen was an improvement over two weeks at camp.</p>
<p>"What are you giggling about?" Carol asked with a quirk of her lip.</p>
<p>"I'm not giggling, I'm chuckling. There's a difference."</p>
<p>"I know there's a difference, and what you're doing is giggling."</p>
<p>"Fine. I'm <em>giggling</em> over this picture Bucky sent me."</p>
<p>"What's he up to?"</p>
<p>"Finding somewhere else to sleep," Steve quipped.</p>
<p>"Show me!"</p>
<p>Steve quickly texted the picture to Carol and was greeted with an unexpected sound when she received the message. "Is that…coughing?" he questioned.</p>
<p>"Yep."</p>
<p>"I didn't know there was an option for a text alert that sounds like coughing."</p>
<p>"There isn't," she said bluntly. "It's custom."</p>
<p>"You recorded it yourself?"</p>
<p>"Uh-huh."</p>
<p>"Wait—you recorded <em>me coughing</em> to use as the alert for me texting you?"</p>
<p>"I did."</p>
<p>"When did you do that?"</p>
<p>"The only time you let me in here during vest time."</p>
<p>"Oh God, that's what you were doing with your phone? I thought you were just playing solitaire."</p>
<p>"Nobody our age plays solitaire."</p>
<p>"I do," he said sheepishly.</p>
<p>"That's lame."</p>
<p>"No it's not. It's lame to record someone without their permission. Isn't that technically illegal?"</p>
<p>"Relax, Rogers, it's not like I'm gonna try and use it to incriminate you for anything."</p>
<p>"Why did you even want a custom text alert?"</p>
<p>"I want to know when it's you and not just someone boring," she explained nonchalantly. Steve was touched that she cared enough about what he had to say to differentiate his text alert from her other contacts. So much so that he decided to forgive her for secretly recording him. She glanced at the photo Steve had sent her and winced in sympathy. "And I thought the sheets here were scratchy."</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>Steve's course of IV antibiotics ended, and at his evaluation he blew a PFT comparable to his baseline before admittance. Dr. Erskine deemed him ready for discharge. He'd never been <em>less</em> excited to leave the hospital, because this time leaving meant abandoning Carol to resume her role as the only person on the ward. When Steve was young, the only other kids here were older and didn't interact with him, so he understood how isolating it could be.</p>
<p>"Stop feeling sorry for me," Carol demanded when he apologized for the fact he'd be leaving her here alone. "I couldn't be happier that you're getting out of this place."</p>
<p>"I'm happy too, I just don't want you to be lonely."</p>
<p>"Then promise you'll call, or maybe even visit every once in a while."</p>
<p>"That I can do. Speaking of which, I'm not as sneaky as you, so I haven't been able to record anything behind your back, but I want to copy your custom ringtone idea."</p>
<p>"Do you now?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"What sound did you have in mind?"</p>
<p>"I think you know."</p>
<p>"Actually, I don't."</p>
<p>"Fine, I'll tell you. I want a recording of your heartbeat."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"You heard me."</p>
<p>"I heard you, but I can't believe that's what you want to hear every time I contact you."</p>
<p>"It'll certainly sound better than wet coughing. Every time your phone goes off, people will run away from you."</p>
<p>"Fair. I do actually have a recording of my heart. In fact, it's the original one from my diagnosis. Wanna hear how horrible it sounds?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely."</p>
<p>Carol pulled out her phone and tapped through a few things before she pulled up the recording. "Do you have headphones? It's better with headphones. Plus, you can pretend it's a stethoscope." Steve plugged his earbuds into Carol's phone and waited for her to play the recording. Even to his untrained, non-cardiologist ears, he knew something was horribly wrong with this heartbeat.</p>
<p>"Is that a third beat?" he questioned.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Dr. Rhodes had lots of fun pointing out the many things wrong with it."</p>
<p>"Send me this recording immediately."</p>
<p>"Don't be bossy. That's my job."</p>
<p>"Once I'm outta here, you won't have anyone to boss around," Steve lamented.</p>
<p>"Don't remind me."</p>
<p>"Thank you for agreeing to this. I do promise that I'll talk to you every day. It'll be easy for the rest of the month since Bucky's away. He doesn't get to use his phone much while he's at camp."</p>
<p>"I hate to break it to you Rogers, but you should have more than two friends."</p>
<p>"I do! I hang out with Jim, Timmy, and Gabe all the time, but they have really busy summers."</p>
<p>"Sounds like an excuse to me."</p>
<p>"Oh shut up."</p>
<p>"I'm gonna miss you talking back to me."</p>
<p>"Well hopefully the next person to move in has a spine. Promise me you won't scare the hell out of any poor sick little kids?"</p>
<p>"I would never do such a thing. You may not know this, but I'm actually great with children."</p>
<p>"I'm sure you are. Just don't try to teach them their animals. We wouldn't want them to get confused."</p>
<p>"I am so close to punching you right now."</p>
<p>"Do it," Steve encouraged. "If you aim for the chest, you might knock some mucus loose and do me a huge favor."</p>
<p>"Gross. Changing the subject, there's something we need to do before you go."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Fix the gauntlet to reflect your new status," she explained.</p>
<p>"Okay, cool. Let's do it." They made their way to the common room and Steve glanced at his name on the poster. He moved space back to his 'self' column, but left the rest alone. "That's as healthy as I'll ever get, I'm afraid." He'd certainly never take time back from cystic fibrosis, and it had been and always would be his reality. As for power, he hadn't had that in full capacity since the last time he blew a PFT of one hundred percent.</p>
<p>"Better than nothing," Carol said with a shrug.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Better than nothing."</p>
<p>"Are you a hugger?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Bucky's the best at hugs," Steve informed her.</p>
<p>"I'll bet I can challenge that."</p>
<p>She tried, and Steve told her it was a close race, but it didn't compare to a Bucky Barnes bear hug. He was looking forward to one of those when his friend returned to the city.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Gearing Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve found himself constantly waiting for his phone to go off with the horribly stilted heartbeat sound that he'd attached to Carol's contact information. They'd texted pretty often in the hospital after curfew when they couldn't be face to face, and he expected she'd want to converse with some regularity. Maybe she'd actually been relieved to see the back of him and really good at hiding it. No, that was ridiculous.</p><p>Just as Steve opened his phone to text her and ask how she was doing, the heartbeat sounded. "It's so boring here without you," the message read.</p><p>"Sorry," Steve replied. He sent another immediately after, "I'm free now if you want to talk on the phone."</p><p>"Not a fan of a long text conversation?"</p><p>"Talking is more natural."</p><p>The heartbeat sounded again, repetitively, and Steve accepted the call. "God, you're such an old man," Carol quipped.</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean?"</p><p>"I've never met anyone younger than thirty who prefers talk over text."</p><p>"Well now you have."</p><p>"I guess so. Are you glad to be home?"</p><p>"Will you be offended if I say yes?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Then yes. It's not that I don't miss seeing you, but I definitely don't miss an accessed port and extra breathing treatments."</p><p>"That's fair. What was the first thing you did when you got back?"</p><p>"Showered. There's no better way to celebrate than washing the smell of hospital out of your skin."</p><p>"You're right. I can't wait to do that one day."</p><p>Neither of them commented on the uncertainty of that eventuality.</p><p>"Hey, I don't mean to pry, but why haven't either of your parents visited?" Steve asked. He hoped there was at least someone else who could keep Carol company if he couldn't be there.</p><p>"My mom's deployed right now, and my dad and I...don't exactly get along," she explained. "But it's fine. I get to talk to Mom occasionally, but I know she's got a lot of important stuff going on. And Ste-nevermind," she cut herself off and fell silent.</p><p>"I'm sorry." Steve couldn't imagine being unable to see his parents for any length of time, especially while he was hospitalized. Carol certainly sounded like it didn't bother her, but he suspected that attitude came on the tail end of a lot of strife.</p><p>"Why do you apologize for things you have no control over?" she asked.</p><p>"I—I don't know. It just seemed like the right thing to say. Is there something else I should have said?"</p><p>"At ease, Rogers, I'm just giving you a hard time. I accept your apology. Thank you."</p><p>"You're welcome."</p><p>"So, what are your plans for the summer? Besides waiting for your Bucky to come home like a nineteen forties housewife?"</p><p>"Mostly just preparing for high school. This is going to be the most complicated changeover because of my…accommodations and all that. Plus high school's inherently more intense."</p><p>"Wait, you haven't started high school yet? I thought you were fifteen?"</p><p>"I am, but my parents held me back a year before starting kindergarten because I have a late birthday."</p><p>"You're telling me I spent weeks hanging out with an eighth grader and had no idea?"</p><p>"Technically I'd already finished the eighth grade, so no."</p><p>"I just finished sophomore year."</p><p>"That's not that big a difference," Steve defended.</p><p>"Clearly you've never been to high school if you think a freshman and a junior can just freely associate like that."</p><p>"I can tell that you're just trying to scare me, and it's not working. I know that's just a stereotype; Bucky already has upperclassmen friends from soccer."</p><p>"Is he going to play for the school's team?"</p><p>"Yeah, they had try-outs really early, at the beginning of summer. He's anxious to hear back."</p><p>"I'm sure he'll do great. And you can tell him I said that."</p><p>"I will. Maybe it'll mean more coming from you than from me. He thinks I'm obligated to encourage him no matter how badly he sucks."</p><p>"Well, you are."</p><p>"I know I am, but he is genuinely good. Great, actually."</p><p>"Do you have plans for getting involved?"</p><p>"You sound like a school guidance counselor," Steve remarked.</p><p>"Just answer the question, Rogers."</p><p>"I haven't thought about it, I've been so busy worrying about the basics."</p><p>"You have to do <em>something</em>. You can't be one of those kids that just goes to school, does homework, and repeats."</p><p>"Well, unlike most kids, I participate in this mandatory extracurricular called CF treatment that takes up at least an hour and a half of my time every day."</p><p>"Yikes, I forgot about that. Sorry."</p><p>"Nah, it's fine. I do plan to join a club or something, I just haven't figured out what that is yet."</p><p>"You are going to take art, right? Because it's a waste of talent if you don't."</p><p>"Everyone needs at least one fine art credit to graduate, so yes, I'm taking art."</p><p>"Good. I took art for a fine art credit my sophomore year, and I hated it, but that's only because I suck at art."</p><p>"I'm sure you don't suck."</p><p>"No, I'm actually the worst. I should have just taken dance, but my ex-girlfriend was in dance and I was not about to deal with that awkwardness every day."</p><p>"…Okay," Steve said, entirely unsure how to react.</p><p>"Anyway, I'm sure your freshman year will be far less dramatic than mine."</p><p>"I certainly hope so."</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve talked to Carol almost every day that month, and visited for a few hours on the weekends. She was going a little stir crazy being the only patient, and Steve was genuinely surprised at the dry spell the hospital was experiencing. Surprised, but also glad. A near-empty hospital ward meant fewer sick kids, which was always a good thing. Bucky returned from camp on the first of August and came scarily close to full-on kissing a Brooklyn sidewalk, he was so glad to be back.</p><p>"I'm not cut out for life in the back country," Bucky proclaimed.</p><p>"Why don't you just ask not to go back next summer?" Steve asked, lounging in a beanbag chair in Bucky's bedroom.</p><p>"My dad won't hear it. He went every summer until he aged out, and he's determined to make me suffer equally. It 'builds character' or whatever."</p><p>"If I had a nickel for every time someone told me that doing something I hated builds character, I wouldn't even need health insurance," Steve drawled. "Which is really saying something considering my bedroom is practically fifty percent pharmacy and twenty percent hospital."</p><p>"I'm pretty sure you're the only reason the pharmacy in this neighborhood is still in business," Bucky remarked. Steve chuckled. He never realized just how much he missed Bucky until he came back.</p><p>"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Steve asked, changing the subject.</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"I was talking to Carol, that girl you met when you visited me at Gravesen, and she said I should pick something fun to get involved with when I start high school. What do you think I should join?"</p><p>"Timmy was talking about auditioning for the fall play, maybe you could do that."</p><p>"Me? Do theater? Are you serious?"</p><p>"Why not? It could be fun."</p><p>"I seriously doubt I'd enjoy standing up in front of a bunch of people and having them stare at me. Also, the odds that I'd have an attention-drawing coughing fit in the middle of someone else's important monologue are too high for me to risk that."</p><p>"Okay, no theater. Got it. But if Timmy does it, you should at least go watch."</p><p>"Of course I will. I'm planning on coming to all of your games too."</p><p>"That's assuming I make the team."</p><p>"You're going to make the team, Bucky. We already had that discussion. We're talking about me now."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah. Well, what about student government? You'd be great at that."</p><p>"You think so?"</p><p>"I'd vote for you as class president, and I know a lot of people that would do the same."</p><p>"Well, you don't know everyone at Hudson Creek."</p><p>"Nobody does; it's a big school. But you could definitely get elected in some position if you put the word out a bit. People love you."</p><p>"People pity me, there's a difference."</p><p>"Steve, you need to give yourself more credit. People like you for many reasons, the last of which is pity."</p><p>"Can you imagine what Alex would say if I got elected to student government? He'd say I only won out of pity, and he'd probably get me impeached."</p><p>"That's bullshit. Since when do you care what Alex says? He's a total dick."</p><p>"Yeah, but he's a dick with the means to slander me if I attempt to achieve a position of power within the school. Besides, he's probably going to be president of the class and I really don't want to get in his way if I can avoid it."</p><p>"Fine, fine, roll over and let Alex win. So SGA is out. What if you started your own club? That would be cool."</p><p>"What kind of club would I start?"</p><p>"I don't know, maybe one for CF awareness and fundraising or something like that?" Bucky suggested.</p><p>"That's admirable, but I don't want my entire life to be about CF."</p><p>"I thought you might say that, but it's still an idea to keep in the back of your mind. I also think you'd be good at Best Buddies."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"You're great with all kinds of people. And—don't kill me for phrasing it like this—you understand what it's like to be different."</p><p>"No, I like that idea. Thank you."</p><p>"Good. Are you excited for high school? We haven't talked about it all that much."</p><p>"Yeah, I'm excited. Also insanely nervous, but excited too. I'm glad I finally get more say in what classes I take."</p><p>"Agreed. I hope our schedules line up at least somewhat."</p><p>"Me too."</p><p>~0~</p><p>The start of the new school year loomed closer, so Steve and Bucky took advantage of their free time while they still had it. Almost every day, Steve went over to Bucky's or vice versa, and any of their friends who weren't busy were invited to join. Today, it was just the two of them. In the silence, Steve's heartbeat ringtone was all the more conspicuous. Bucky eyed him suspiciously, but didn't comment as Steve pulled out his phone. He opened the message and read: "Be honest. What do you think?" The text confused him because he had no idea what Carol was asking his opinion about. He was halfway through typing "About what?" when the second text came through: a selfie depicting her new haircut.</p><p>"I think you look like a cancer kid six months after chemo ends," Steve wrote back.</p><p>"Perfect. That's exactly what I was going for."</p><p>"Are you happy with it?"</p><p>"Yes. But Rocket doesn't seem to recognize me."</p><p>"He's a dog, don't they know people by smell?"</p><p>"I thought so too, but he definitely seems thrown by it."</p><p>"Well I think it suits you."</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean?"</p><p>Steve didn't anticipate her getting offended by that comment, so he had no idea what to say. It was just a simple compliment, it didn't mean anything.</p><p>"At ease, Rogers. I can practically see you blushing," she texted after he failed to answer her question.</p><p>"Ok."</p><p>"Are you texting <em>her</em> again?" Bucky asked. Steve locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, startled by the sudden noise. They'd been sitting in companionable silence for the past half an hour, finally sifting through all the emails that had been sent to them throughout the summer by the high school, informing them of important dates, advertising extracurriculars, and the like. Most of it was spam, but Steve had insisted they read them anyway.</p><p>"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly.</p><p>"If I'd known you were going to replace me I never would have let you go to Gravesen."</p><p>"She hasn't <em>replaced</em> you."</p><p>"Really? Ever since you got back, you can't get through a conversation without mentioning her at least twice."</p><p>"And when I talk to her, I mention you."</p><p>"How do I know you're not just saying that to make me feel better?"</p><p>"Because you're my best friend and I would never lie to you," Steve said earnestly.</p><p>"Okay, I believe you. Don't make me regret it."</p><p>"I won't. Have you heard back about soccer tryouts yet?"</p><p>"No, and that worries me."</p><p>"I'm sure you did fine. You're the best goalie in the whole state, maybe even the country."</p><p>"That's flattering, but it's not exactly true."</p><p>"Isn't that why your parents wanted to send you to that private school? It's known for soccer and would put you on the radar of college recruiters."</p><p>"Maybe," he admitted. As skilled as Bucky was at the sport he'd been playing most of his life, he was never cocky about it. Steve had no doubt Bucky would make the team, but Bucky didn't share that confidence.</p><p>"That coach is an idiot if he doesn't want you on his team."</p><p>"Thanks, Steve."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. High School</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bonus chapter because...guess who just finished Clint's prequel? I certainly hope it was me, because if it wasn't me then that means there's someone out there trying to take over my AU, and I will not stand for it! Just kidding, it was me. It stands at exactly 6 chapters, which is the length I was initially anticipating when I first had the idea to do prequels. Yet here we are on Chapter 17 of Steve's. Oops. Anyway, enjoy the chapter :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm serious! I caught him watching Downton Abbey in the common room," Carol insisted, laughing. She'd called Steve to provide a report of the goings-on among the Gravesen staff. Apparently Nurse Happy had surprising viewing preferences.</p><p>"I don't believe you. Someone probably just left it on by accident and he was in there to turn it off."</p><p>"The only person who uses it right now is me, and I did not leave it on by accident, certainly not to any channel that airs British period dramas."</p><p>"I forgot, you're one of those History Channel alien enthusiasts, aren't you?"</p><p>"Yes. I watched all fifteen seasons of Ancient Aliens and I do not regret a second of it."</p><p>"Fair enough. Bucky watches Riverdale, so I guess I have a propensity for making friends with people who have strange TV preferences."</p><p>"I suppose you do. Well, I have an echo in a little while, so I guess I'd better go. I'll talk to you later. Danvers out."</p><p>"Rogers out." Steve hung up and noticed he had a dozen unread texts. Opening the app, he learned they were all from Bucky, and all of them just asked him (in increasingly profane terms) to call. He tapped the button and only waited half a ring for Bucky to pick up.</p><p>"Steve, what took you so long?" Bucky asked almost angrily. "I've been texting you for half an hour, and I tried calling but the line was busy."</p><p>"I was talking to Carol," he admitted.</p><p>"I should have guessed that. Anyway, I have news."</p><p>"Usually when I hear that phrase it means I'm about to be put on another drug."</p><p>"Not this time."</p><p>"Spill it."</p><p>"I made varsity soccer!" he exclaimed. Steve could hear the palpable excitement through the phone.</p><p>"That's amazing! I told you you would and you didn't believe me."</p><p>"It's not that I didn't believe you; I just didn't want to set myself up for disappointment."</p><p>"Well, congratulations. I look forward to going to all of your games and cheering obnoxiously."</p><p>"I expect nothing less. Man, I am so psyched for high school. I've always wanted to be a Howling Commando. I am so glad I convinced my parents not to send me to some stupid private school."</p><p>"And I'm glad I convinced mine not to keep me prisoner here. Can you imagine having to do school at home every day?"</p><p>"No. It would suck."</p><p>"I mean, I get it's safer or whatever, but what's the point of living if I don't get to <em>live</em>, you know?"</p><p>"Yeah. As long as you're confident you can go to public school and be healthy I support it one hundred percent."</p><p>"Of course I'm confident. I've been playing this game my entire life, Bucky, I know when to shoot and when to stay on defense."</p><p>"Ooh, did you just make a soccer reference?"</p><p>"That literally applies to every team sport, but sure, I'll say it was a soccer reference."</p><p>"I'll take it."</p><p>~0~</p><p>The first day of high school dawned bright and early—even earlier for Steve than for most. Squeezing in a half-hour treatment beforehand meant he rose before the sun. He met up with Bucky, Gabe, Jim, and Timmy on the steps outside Hudson Creek. Traditionally, friend groups congregated in a given spot before first period. Some chose the library, others the band room, and many just found a windowsill or a spot somewhere in the hallway. It was up to them to find a spot that wasn't already taken. They walked through one of the sets of double doors at the front of the building and Steve took a second to reflect on the fact that he'd actually made it here. He wouldn't trade this sensation for four years of homeschooling even if it was twenty thousand times safer.</p><p>Instead of shrinking into himself whenever people stared at him, he smiled at them. He'd been living with his oxygen long enough that he not only expected the lingering glances, he embraced them. A few people even smiled back. They'd walked the halls before during orientation, and Steve had studied the map relentlessly so he wouldn't get lost. Jim and Timmy walked abreast in front of Steve, Bucky, and Gabe. Steve always took the outside right when they walked in a clump so he wouldn't trip anybody. He didn't expect that they'd find 'their place' on the first day, but Jim stumbled across an empty windowsill that looked out over a courtyard.</p><p>"This is it. We're staking our claim, boys," Jim announced.</p><p>"Are you sure? What if some upperclassmen come along and tell us this is theirs?" Timmy asked nervously.</p><p>"Then we'll tell them they should have gotten here sooner," Gabe replied.</p><p>"Or we could respectfully bow to their authority," Timmy suggested.</p><p>"Come on, it's just a windowsill. We're not going to start a turf war," Bucky assured him. "Now sit down." Steve relented and hopped up into a sunny patch, Jim beside him. Gabe and Bucky stood against the wall on Steve's side of the window, and Timmy sat in the empty space next to Jim.</p><p>"Tell me this isn't the best spot," Jim said.</p><p>"I feel like a cat sunning itself," Timmy remarked.</p><p>"This window faces east, and the sun just came up like half an hour ago," Bucky explained.</p><p>"Yeah, this might be the best spot," Steve admitted. "Too bad we only get to stay here for ten minutes before we have to go to class."</p><p>"Yeah, that's a real bummer." Steve stiffened at the sound of that voice. Alex Pierce. Sure enough, Alex stood flanked by Jasper and Brock, glaring at the group as if they'd forcefully shoved him off the windowsill and taken it for themselves. He'd left Steve alone for almost the entire latter half of eighth grade, but evidently now that some confidence had returned to Steve, all integrity had bled out of Alex and his buddies.</p><p>"What do you want?" Jim asked flatly.</p><p>"To say hi and wish you good luck on your first day," Jasper said with a wicked grin.</p><p>"Thanks. Same to you," Steve replied. The three of them eyed him, suspicious of his courtesy. He waited for them to retaliate with some snide remark, and he wasn't disappointed.</p><p>"How long will you be staying with us?" Alex asked Steve snidely. "I want to mark my calendar."</p><p>"Fuck you," Bucky spat, stepping between Steve and Alex and squaring his shoulders. Alex didn't even flinch.</p><p>"Easy, Mama Smurf. I was just asking a simple question."</p><p>"Will you quit it with the stupid nicknames? We're not in kindergarten anymore."</p><p>"Then why are you still acting like you're his nanny?" Jasper asked, indicating Steve with a nod of his head. Brock remained conspicuously silent.</p><p>Steve hopped off the windowsill and stepped up so he stood beside Bucky. "He's just being a good friend. Not that you'd know what that looks like." Alex bristled and opened his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by the bell. He strode off with a last menacing glare in their direction.</p><p>"What an asshole," Jim tutted. "I hope he's not in any of my classes."</p><p>"Don't we all," Steve grumbled. The group parted ways, heading off to their first class of their high school careers. Every single teacher spent the period going over the syllabus, and Steve did his best to organize all the information. With his treatment regimen, he'd honed his time management skills far more than the average teenager, and he approached schoolwork with the same diligence as his medical care. Fortunately, he only encountered Alex in one of his classes, and the other boy left him alone except for a few sneers. All in all, it was a very successful first day.</p><p>After school, Steve returned home while Bucky and Gabe headed to soccer practice. He saw that Carol had left him a message and called her back to tell her all about his first day. However, he neglected to mention anything about Alex for fear Carol would lecture him about reporting this or, worse, find a way to report it herself. Carol reciprocated by telling him all about the Ancient One making her read the Crucible. Steve agreed that she probably had it worse. Afterwards, he worked his way through the mountain of paperwork and had his dad fill in all the blanks for parent signatures.</p><p>The next two days of school went pretty smoothly, with only minimal harassment from Alex. On Wednesday, Steve's parents invited the Barnes over for dinner to celebrate. While the adults conversed in the kitchen, they retreated to Steve's bedroom to await the call for food. "I can't believe our English teacher assigned us a book on the second day. Don't we get a little bit longer of an adjustment period?" Bucky complained.</p><p>"They warned us that high school would be hard," Steve replied. Between homework and soccer practice, Bucky hardly had time to spend after school with Steve anymore, and Steve had to admit he didn't particularly enjoy it.</p><p>"I think they were undershooting it."</p><p>"It'll be fine. We'll get used to it."</p><p>"I hope so." Bucky sighed and looked at Steve with an expression he didn't quite recognize. "I have to tell you something."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Gabe invited me and the guys to go camping upstate with him this weekend to take a breather from the stress of the first week and all. And uh…"</p><p>He couldn't seem to figure out how to conclude that statement, so Steve helped him out, "And they trusted you to be tactful enough to invite me when you all know I can't go?"</p><p>"Yeah, basically," Bucky admitted sheepishly. This wasn't the first time his friends had done something together that Steve had to miss out on, but it still stung in the same way it had since he was a little kid. He used to throw tantrums when Mom made him stay home because the proposed destination was far too germ-riddled for him to go during flu season, or because he was already under the weather and trying to act like he wasn't, or because of any number of CF-related things that kept him from having fun. Nowadays he could handle himself with more dignity, but that didn't mean he didn't internally curse his DNA every time something like this happened.</p><p>"It's okay, Bucky," Steve assured, forcing a smile. He knew his friends felt guilty when they did things that Steve couldn't, but he'd feel even guiltier if he held them back from living their lives to <em>their</em> fullest potential. If everyone eased back to Steve's level, they'd go stir crazy, and he couldn't let that happen. "I'm sure you guys will have a lot of fun."</p><p>"God, how do you do this?"</p><p>"Do what?"</p><p>"Act like it's no big deal. If I were in your place, I'd be so mad at me right now."</p><p>"Why would I be mad at you for going camping with your friends?"</p><p>"Because they're not just <em>my</em> friends, they're <em>our</em> friends, and we're doing something fun without you. It seems unfair."</p><p>"It <em>is</em> unfair, but there's no reason to make it unfair to you too."</p><p>"You're a saint, you know that?"</p><p>"Please don't call me that. One, I don't deserve it. And two, you have to be dead before you can be canonized, and I don't want to associate myself with that concept just yet."</p><p>"Right, sorry. And if you'd rather I not go, just say the word and I'll spend the weekend with you instead."</p><p>"Bucky, I'm not going to tell you not to go camping. Believe it or not, I can survive a weekend with you away. I made it through a whole month during the summer, didn't I?"</p><p>"Yeah, you did."</p><p>"But you'd better send me pictures, deal?"</p><p>"Deal."</p><p>~0~</p><p>"So, your buddies are out sleeping in tents and peeing in the woods, and your first instinct is to visit your dear old hospital friend," Carol deadpanned.</p><p>"Danvers, I visit you every weekend," Steve replied in an equally dry tone.</p><p>"I know. But your story about your friends running away to the mountains without you was a real tearjerker."</p><p>"Hilarious."</p><p>"What are they doing next weekend, scuba diving in Belize?"</p><p>"Are you finished?"</p><p>"Yes," she acquiesced. Steve sat down in the chair across from Carol's favorite spot on the couch. "I want to hear all about your high school experience now that the first day jitters are over," she insisted. "Where do you go again?"</p><p>"Hudson Creek."</p><p>"Is that in Brooklyn?"</p><p>Steve nodded. "It's been pretty good so far. I love my history teacher. Art looks like it's going to be a good class. And the hallways are crowded, but not so much that this is a major issue." He patted his oxygen cylinder.</p><p>"Have you ever considered decorating it?" she asked curiously.</p><p>"Not really. It draws enough eyes as is."</p><p>"Well if it's drawing eyes anyway, you should give them something more interesting to look at."</p><p>"I'll think about it."</p><p>"That means no."</p><p>"Yes it does."</p><p>"Spoilsport."</p><p>"It's my oxygen, therefore my decision."</p><p>"Fine." She stood from the sofa with a huff and for a moment Steve thought he'd driven her off, but she only went as far as the closet. After rifling through it for a few moments, she grabbed a box and placed it on the table. "Come on," she urged Steve, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. Steve walked over and saw that she'd selected a box of dominos.</p><p>"You want to play dominos?" he asked. Of all the games he knew were in that closet, this was the last one he expected Carol to show any interest in.</p><p>"No, I'm just in the mood to put a lot of effort into something and then destroy it with a single touch," she explained.</p><p>"Is that how you described it to the Falcon?"</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"Dr. Wilson. Did I never tell you about that nickname?"</p><p>"No, you didn't, but I can guess exactly why you call him that without you explaining it. Is it the stare?"</p><p>"You bet."</p><p>"I knew it," she said victoriously. "And no, I haven't seen him since I had my psych eval for transplant. I just want to knock down dominos. Will you help me?"</p><p>"Sure." She dumped out the box and they took turns placing dominos in a row on the table.</p><p>"So, have you decided how you're going to get involved at your high school yet? I'm sure the morning announcements have been jam packed with people begging freshmen to come to their club meetings."</p><p>"Not quite yet. I've heard that happens more in the second and third week of school."</p><p>"Still, you must have some idea."</p><p>"I talked to Bucky about it. He suggested student government."</p><p>"I think he hit the nail on the head. If I went to your school, I'd vote you for class president."</p><p>"You're a junior, you can't vote for freshman class president," Steve pointed out.</p><p>"I know that. And I would commit voter fraud for you, Rogers."</p><p>"That's…nice of you."</p><p>"No it's not, it's illegal. What kind of a president condones voter fraud?"</p><p>Steve scowled at her until she burst out laughing. "You're hilarious," he sighed.</p><p>Once she collected herself, she continued, "But seriously, you should go for it."</p><p>"I don't know if it's a good idea since I miss so much school."</p><p>"Your VP will take over when you're out of commission. Don't let CF scare you away from doing this."</p><p>"You're right. But that's not the only reason." Steve thought of Alex and how inevitable his running for class president was. If Steve dared go up against him, there's no telling how much backlash he'd face.</p><p>"Spill."</p><p>"There's another kid that I know is going to run and he would definitely beat me."</p><p>"You'll never know until you try."</p><p>"Yeah, but he won't like if I go up against him."</p><p>"Nobody likes their opposition."</p><p>"He already doesn't like me, and I don't want to poke the bear if you know what I mean."</p><p>"What do you mean he doesn't like you?" she asked, brow furrowed in suspicion. "Steve, when I left you a voicemail on your first day, I told you I would beat up any bullies who singled you out, and I will bust my way out of here if that's what it takes."</p><p>"No, no. You definitely don't have to do that," Steve assured. Anyone attempting to intercede on his behalf could only make the situation worse; Alex would eviscerate him for letting someone else fight this battle for him.</p><p>"What's their name?" Carol asked knowingly. Of course, she was too damn perceptive to see through his lousy attempt at reassurance.</p><p>"His name is Alex," Steve sighed.</p><p>"How long?"</p><p>"Since kindergarten." He bit his lip, waiting for her reaction. Carol smacked the table so hard that their dominos came toppling down. They both paused to watch their hard work erased, and only when the last domino had fallen did Carol give Steve a piece of her mind.</p><p>"I can't believe you! How could you let this go on for nearly ten years?"</p><p>"We tried when we were younger, but his insanely powerful dad always gets him out of trouble. At this point we've just accepted it. It's not even that bad, I swear. Things haven't gotten physical since sixth grade."</p><p>"He used to hit you?"</p><p>"Well, actually I always hit first," Steve admitted. "He knew exactly which buttons to push to aggravate me into hitting him. But now he and his lackeys just shoot us dirty looks and occasionally try to put us down."</p><p>"That's still <em>bullying</em>."</p><p>"I know, but his words don't mean anything to me."</p><p>"Sure they don't. What does he call you?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"The nasty nickname. A long-term bully like him has got to have one. What does he call you?"</p><p>Steve mumbled the name under his breath, embarrassed to admit it.</p><p>"I didn't catch that."</p><p>"Wheezy Smurf," he repeated.</p><p>Carol tried valiantly to stifle a chuckle, but the ridiculousness of the name was too much to handle. "That's so stupid."</p><p>"Yeah, I know. He came up with it in kindergarten and it stuck. He calls Bucky Mama Smurf, makes fun of him for acting like he's my nanny. Occasionally he'll target another of my friends, but only when they're around me."</p><p>"Sounds like a purebred asshole to me."</p><p>"He is. Which is why what he says doesn't mean anything to me."</p><p>"You can say that all you want, but years of that kind of abuse won't leave anyone unscathed."</p><p>"I'm fine," Steve insisted, already fed up with the subject. Yes, Alex was an asshole, but getting him to face actual consequences for his actions was more trouble than it's worth. "Can we try this domino thing again?"</p><p>"Alright." Carol backed down, and they reconstructed the trail they'd had going before it toppled. Neither of them mentioned Alex again, but Steve left after promising he would go after the class presidency.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Coming Home, Falling Apart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The last 4 or 5 chapters have been pretty toned-down, as far as angst goes. I'm sorry, but the honeymoon's over. Now we're marching through these last 3 action-packed chapters until the end!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He won. Steve Rogers won the election and was inaugurated as president of Hudson Creek High School Class of 2023. The runner-up became his vice president: Alexander Pierce. Throughout the campaigning process, he remained surprisingly docile. Steve had expected him to double or even triple his taunting, but he left all of them alone. When the results were announced, Steve mustered all of his politesse and approached Alex.</p>
<p>"Good race," he said, offering his hand.</p>
<p>Alex smiled, accepted the handshake, and while looking Steve right in the eye whispered, "Isn't it amazing how far pity can take you?" That hurt worse than months of his usual jabs. Steve refused to let his composure falter, but he knew that Alex could see in his eyes how deeply the comment struck. Fortunately, the two of them didn't have to work on any projects solo, rather led the rest of SGA in planning the first major event of the year: homecoming. Steve was so busy that he missed most of Bucky's soccer games.</p>
<p>"It's okay," Bucky assured him. "You came to the first game, and that's all I asked of you. You've got more important things going on."</p>
<p>"Thanks. Once homecoming's over, my schedule will open up. There's just so much to do."</p>
<p>"You'll get it done. Besides, you're the man in charge, so you can delegate responsibilities whenever you need to, right?"</p>
<p>"Yes, but I still have to oversee and make sure it all gets done properly."</p>
<p>"And you will," Bucky assured him. "They elected you for a reason, you know."</p>
<p>"Pity?" Steve mumbled.</p>
<p>"What?" Bucky's tone turned deadly serious.</p>
<p>"Nothing, it's just something Alex said to me."</p>
<p>"He told you that you only won out of pity?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"That's complete and utter bullshit. He's just jealous that you won."</p>
<p>"I know he's jealous, but he does have a point."</p>
<p>"He also has an ego the size of Jupiter, and a conscious maybe one billionth that size. Steve, I know a lot of people who voted for you, and none of them did it out of pity. They did it out of knowledge that you are a great leader and decision-maker. I, personally, did it because I know that managing an entire student government would be small potatoes for you because you've spent your entire life managing something far more unruly."</p>
<p>"You really think so?"</p>
<p>"Of course I do. I am beyond excited to attend a homecoming that you planned because I know how capable you are."</p>
<p>"I'll try not to disappoint," Steve promised.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>"Are you serious?" Jim asked, dumbfounded. "You're not going to the dance that <em>you</em> put together?"</p>
<p>"I'm serious. I don't want to go to homecoming," Steve repeated.</p>
<p>"Are you crazy?" Bucky questioned.</p>
<p>"No. I just don't want to go. I enjoyed planning it, but dancing in a massive crowd is not my idea of fun."</p>
<p>"Did your mom forbid it because of germs? Flu season has barely even started," Bucky countered.</p>
<p>"No, she didn't tell me I couldn't go. This is my decision."</p>
<p>"Is this because you don't have a date? Hardly any freshmen bring dates to homecoming," Timmy informed him.</p>
<p>"No! It has nothing to do with that. I just don't want to go, okay?"</p>
<p>"Is there anything we can do to convince you?" Gabe asked.</p>
<p>"No," Steve asserted.</p>
<p>"Alright. I'm not one to pick a fight I know I can't win," Jim conceded.</p>
<p>They gave up on convincing him, but Bucky leaned over and asked in a whisper, "Is it because you can't dance for shit?"</p>
<p>"Actually, it's because I have other plans," Steve said with a conspiratorial grin.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>"I saw on Bucky's Instagram that tonight is homecoming, so what the hell are you doing here?" Carol questioned.</p>
<p>"Coming home," Steve answered.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>Now that homecoming had come and passed, Steve's schedule opened up enough for him to go to more soccer games. Usually, the offensive players who scored exciting goals got all the adoration from fans, but when the Howling Commandos played, their supporters cheered for Bucky. Steve had seen him play before, but at this level Bucky proved to be an absolute beast. He dove after the ball like an animal, more than earning the nickname White Wolf that erupted from the stands at the first game of the playoffs. Steve and the guys took up the chant with gusto, filled with pride that their friend was the star on a team full of upperclassmen.</p>
<p>At the end of the game, Steve saw Bucky rubbing at his left shoulder, but he thought nothing of it. Then, Bucky showed up at school with the arm in a sling. Still, Steve's thoughts didn't stray beyond considering that maybe he'd injured it while playing. But then, Bucky called him <em>in tears</em> and Steve's chest tightened up in a way that had nothing to do with the constant buildup of mucus he'd spent his entire life fending off. Without a second thought, he got himself to his best friend's side and blindly conjured words to say, fleetingly hoping they were the right ones. And some of them were. Certainly not all of them, but he fixed those with more right words. When he left Gravesen that day, he left feeling like he'd done everything he could.</p>
<p>It wasn't nearly enough.</p>
<p>The second he got home, he tore off to his room before his mother could stop him. He knew she wanted to ask him a million questions and offer him a million platitudes. None of that could change anything. Nothing could change the fact that, despite Bucky's pointers, he was woefully unprepared to act in this role of support system for an ailing friend. Nothing could change the fact that his best friend had fucking cancer and would suffer more acutely than Steve ever had in his lifetime of being sick.</p>
<p>He slammed the door behind him and wept, his sorrowful cries quickly turning to furious screams. His mother undoubtedly heard the racket, but she wisely made no effort to comfort him. Any intervention on her part he knew would result in her becoming a target of his wild rage. The sight of his nightstand, littered with pill bottles as it had been forever, only stoked his fury, reminding him that Bucky's would soon look just the same when it should contain nothing but a lamp and soccer trophies. Thank goodness for childproof caps or Steve would have scattered a month's worth of medication all over his bedroom floor when he swept them off the table.</p>
<p>Fortunately, he stopped just short of smashing his feed pump and collapsed on his bed, panting with exertion and emotion. God, it was so <em>unfair</em>. Steve liked to think he led two lives, one inside of Gravesen and one out, and he tried to minimize overlap between the two. He only let Bucky visit him in the hospital sometimes because he needed a reminder that his other life still existed. Now Bucky would be just as much a part of Gravesen life as Carol or Nurse Peggy, and Steve detested it because he <em>wasn't supposed to be there.</em></p>
<p>Bucky belonged at school, laughing at some ridiculous joke Jim made or rambling excitedly to Gabe about drills from yesterday's practice. He belonged on the soccer field making Steve and their entire school proud. The one place he definitely didn't belong, where Steve never wanted him to be, was across the hall from his hospital room convalescing from the side effects of the medicine supposedly saving his life. Steve knew cancer, he'd practically grown up adjacent to it, and it showed no mercy. Ever. It had killed Logan and left his parents without their son. It had imprisoned Clint in its wrathful clutches for nearly six years, showing no signs of releasing him. It robbed little Scott of his life just five years after it had begun. Steve did not want to learn what it might do to his best friend.</p>
<p>If he could have shouldered this burden for him, he would in an instant. One genetic mutation had already dictated the entire course of his life, what was one more? Why couldn't cancer have come for him instead, stolen the health of someone who didn't really have it in the first place? Why Bucky? Why the one person Steve could always count on to be there, to be strong and steady when he needed someone to hold him up? If cancer stole Bucky…what would he have left?</p>
<p>He ran his hands over his face in frustration, and he growled when his fingertips met plastic tubing. He'd grown so accustomed to the oxygen that he frankly forgot it was there most of the time. Steve ripped it off and cast it aside, shuddering with the force of his grief and anger. The door to his room opened and his mother stood in the doorway, alerted by the ceasing of his enraged shouts. She gazed over the mess on the floor but didn't chastise him for it. Instead, she plopped down beside him and wrapped a comforting arm around his trembling shoulders.</p>
<p>"Why did it have to be Bucky?" Steve asked desperately.</p>
<p>"I don't know, sweetheart. We can't know the answer to that question."</p>
<p>"Of all people…I just don't understand. <em>I'm</em> supposed to be the sick one. Not him."</p>
<p>"It doesn't always work like that. It's not one or the other."</p>
<p>"What am I gonna do?" he asked, shaking his head.</p>
<p>"You're going to do what he's done for you every time you've been ill," Mom said gently. "You're going to keep him company and cheer him up whenever you can."</p>
<p>"But what if…" he couldn't even bring himself to finish the statement, the idea too horrible to contemplate. They long ago accepted that they wouldn't grow old together, that Steve would at some point leave Bucky behind when his lungs gave in to decades of abuse. The notion that it could be the other way around had never crossed his mind.</p>
<p>"Don't think about that." She knew what he was thinking without him having to say it. "You take it one day at a time, and do not let the worrying eat you up inside."</p>
<p>"Okay," he whimpered. The least he could do was attempt to follow her advice. He was no good to Bucky if every time he looked at him he saw another potential cancer casualty. Bucky didn't think about their lack of a distant future together every time he looked at Steve, and Steve would be a horrible friend if he couldn't return that favor.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>The next morning, Steve blearily opened his eyes after a fitful night's sleep. When he'd eventually managed to doze off, nightmarish visions of Scott and Bucky haunted him. Carol had left him a voicemail at some point last night, which he listened to. He texted her saying they'd talk next time he visited. Despite his emotional and physical exhaustion, he propelled himself through his morning routine and the first half of the school day. He didn't absorb hardly any information that his teachers spouted at him, too focused on worrying to pay much attention. He was genuinely surprised he made it to lunch without falling asleep or breaking down sobbing in the middle of class.</p>
<p>"Where's Bucky?" Timmy asked. "I haven't seen him all day."</p>
<p>All three of them looked expectantly to Steve for an answer. He froze under the scrutiny. Should he tell them the truth or wait for Bucky's permission to break the news? It didn't feel like his duty to inform them, and the last thing he wanted was to upset Bucky when he already had so much to be upset about. Answering vaguely but reasonably seemed the right way to go, so Steve said, "He has doctor's appointments for his shoulder."</p>
<p>"Man, is it that bad?" Gabe asked. "I though he just wrenched it playing."</p>
<p>"They're trying to figure out exactly what it is," Steve said. Fortunately for him, they accepted this answer without further prying.</p>
<p>"Did any of you see the school paper?" Jim inquired.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Guess who made the front page."</p>
<p>"Alex?" Timmy said.</p>
<p>"No, thank God."</p>
<p>"That chemistry teacher who nearly set fire to the school?"</p>
<p>"No, but there is an article about that. The front page contains the White Wolf himself."</p>
<p>"Bucky?" Steve confirmed.</p>
<p>"Yep." Jim pulled a copy of the school newspaper out of his backpack and showed them the headline. Sure enough, it was all about Bucky and how he'd made the Howling Commandos a more formidable team than ever. Steve felt a combination of pride and despair looking at the image, knowing what he did about Bucky's future. Still, he knew his best friend would want to see this.</p>
<p>"Mind if I keep this?" Steve asked.</p>
<p>"Go ahead. I can get another copy."</p>
<p>"Thanks." Steve tucked it away to give to Bucky later. The next day, none of their friends had yet heard from Bucky despite their attempts at contact and they grilled Steve more intensely. He floundered, stating it was a complicated issue and they weren't sure how to fix it. Later, he confronted Bucky and all but forced him to confide in their friends. The conversation went about as smoothly as possible, and after they hung up Timmy texted Steve individually.</p>
<p>"I wish there was something I could do," he wrote.</p>
<p>Steve, who'd been stewing over this idea since he got the news, texted back: "Do you want to help me put together a care package?"</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>Together, the four of them picked out things that Bucky would both need and enjoy during this time. Steve placed the newspaper in the bag too and convinced his dad to drive him to Gravesen. It was still strange to walk in there and check in as a visitor instead of a patient, even though he'd done it several times to see Carol. Speaking of which, she approached him just as he stepped onto the ward.</p>
<p>"Steve." With that one word, she conveyed a maelstrom of emotions from pity to compassion to awe. Her use of his first name instead of his last spoke measures even without the tone attached to it.</p>
<p>"Carol." It came out more of a whisper than a call, because by the time he'd gotten the word out of his mouth he'd all but collapsed into hopeless weeping. She wrapped deceptively strong arms around him and guided them into her room to sit down, placing her American flag blanket around his quivering shoulders. Steve wrapped the material in his fist and let its softness and Carol's presence calm him down. She didn't pressure him into talking before he was ready, instead waited patiently for him to indicate when a conversation would be beneficial.</p>
<p>"I still can't believe this is happening," he squeaked out.</p>
<p>"That's okay. It's a massive thing to come to terms with."</p>
<p>"But I have to come to terms with it, because it's real."</p>
<p>"And you will, in time. It's perfectly reasonable to be in shock at first."</p>
<p>"I just…I just never thought he would be one of us, you know? But now he is, and I wish I could do more."</p>
<p>"Steve, you can't cure cancer," she said acceptingly. "But whatever you do as his friend will be enough. I know this because I speak from experience."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Well, my heart certainly hasn't improved since I met you, but my life definitely has."</p>
<p>"Really?" Steve couldn't wrap his head around the pure sentiment coming out of his normally mordant friend's mouth.</p>
<p>"Yes, really. You are unnaturally good at making people feel comfortable and welcome. Bucky's lucky to have you as his best friend."</p>
<p>"You're gonna make me start crying again."</p>
<p>"Please don't. Although I know it's certainly warranted right now, I don't like seeing you upset."</p>
<p>"I don't exactly like being upset either, but life keeps throwing me curveballs."</p>
<p>"And yet you still hit them all out of the park."</p>
<p>"Well, I don't know about <em>that</em>, but I would say that at least I haven't struck out yet."</p>
<p>"Bucky would not be happy that you're using a baseball metaphor instead of soccer," Carol chided.</p>
<p>"You're right," Steve chuckled. "Speaking of which, I'm definitely late for our visit. Thank you so much for this chat, but I'd better go."</p>
<p>"You're welcome, Rogers. Oh, and make sure he knows who's captain around here," she said with a smirk.</p>
<p>"Got it."</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>He wondered if this was how Bucky felt whenever Steve missed school for illness. The empty space where he would—<em>should</em>—be standing stood out like a black hole, and every day without him that hole grew bigger. At lunch, Steve turned to the seat next to him to whisper something to Bucky, only to remember that he wasn't there. The four of them refrained from discussing Bucky's cancer at school both because they didn't want to inadvertently start any rumors and because the topic caused them grief. They tried to keep up 'normal' conversation, but no one could keep their eyes off of Bucky's empty seat for long.</p>
<p>He found it difficult to stay focused in class, his mind constantly wandering to what Bucky was doing at that exact moment. Was he asleep? Was he with Carol? How much pain was he in? Had he managed to eat today? Bucky provided him with regular updates and Steve visited both Gravesen and Bucky's home whenever he could, but the questions never stopped swirling around in his head. The stress caught up to him on his way to the nurse to take his enzymes before lunch. The task reminded him of the first years of their friendship, when Bucky would accompany Steve to the nurse every day just so he didn't have to go alone. Thinking about that resulted in him hiding in the bathroom for a solid twenty minutes to catch his breath. Fortunately, nobody came in and overheard him during that time. Once he'd composed himself, he dared to peek his head back outside. Only ten minutes of lunch remained, and Steve did not have an appetite in the least, so he chose to take a walk through the halls. He counted the different colored tiles beneath his feet, concentrating on the pattern. Staring at the floor, Steve didn't notice the figure walking towards him until he nearly bowled him over.</p>
<p>"Watch where you're going, Wheezy Smurf." Steve's blood turned to ice. He looked up into Alex's sneering face and blubbered an apology. "You're sorry? You're never sorry when your pal Bucky is here to protect you."</p>
<p>"Just leave me alone, Alex. Now is really not a good time," Steve hissed through gritted teeth.</p>
<p>Naturally, Alex ignored his plea. "I'm used to you running off, but it took me by surprise when he did it. Where'd he go, anyway? Did he finally get tired of being your caretaker?"</p>
<p>Steve's composure crumbled like a poorly-made sandcastle, the remains of which quickly whipped up into a sandstorm. "He's in the same place where I go every time I 'run off.' You want to know where that is? It's a goddamn hospital! My best friend has <em>cancer</em> and the <em>last</em> thing I need right now is to put up with your <em>shit</em>. You can make fun of me for having a chronic, life-threatening illness all you want, but <em>don't you dare</em> make fun of the fact that Bucky is off fighting for his life while there's <em>nothing</em> I can do to protect him." Steve trembled with the force of his rage, breaths ragged and sharp from the exertion of shouting. Alex shrunk into himself and backed up as if Steve was a grizzly bear he'd just mistakenly awoken from hibernation. "Apologize," Steve demanded.</p>
<p>"Sorry," he squeaked before tearing off down the hallway. Steve collapsed against the wall and gradually lowered himself to the floor. A teacher who Steve didn't recognize must have heard the racket, and when he found Steve slumped in an empty hallway he immediately ran over.</p>
<p>"Are you alright?" he asked.</p>
<p>"No," Steve admitted. Though he hadn't encountered any triggers, he felt like he was about to have an asthma attack. The teacher helped him to stand and took him into the nurse. Fortunately, they arrived just before the bell sounded and the hallways flooded with students.</p>
<p>"Steve, what happened?" the nurse asked, helping him to sit down. She also mistook his shaky breathing for asthma and handed him his rescue inhaler. Steve pushed it away with a shake of his head and ran a trembling hand through his hair.</p>
<p>"Alex…crossed…the line," he heaved.</p>
<p>"Alex? Who?"</p>
<p>"Alexander Pierce," Steve growled. God, if the boy managed to finagle his way out of trouble for this offense, Steve would really open the floodgates. Not even Alex's father could get him off if Steve and all his friends came forward with a report of everything the boy had ever done to them. For a decade, Steve had put up with Alex's taunting in addition to the harrowing trials his disease set before him. He was surprised it had taken something as drastic as Bucky getting diagnosed with cancer to put him over the edge. When he'd finally calmed down enough to breathe without feeling like he was suffocating, Steve told the nurse everything. She listened with careful attention, and then she made some calls.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One more thing I would like to note: as we get closer to the premiere date of the first of many MCU series, I would just like to say that I will not be discussing any of them in the author's notes or comments of any of these stories for multiple reasons. The first of which is I don't know when/if everyone's watching and I don't want to accidentally slip any spoilers. Secondly, I'm sure that as we learn more about the canon backstories and futures of these characters, this Gravesen universe will grow more and more ALTERNATE, if that makes any sense. This past year has been a great year for fanfiction because nobody had any new MCU content to satisfy them instead, and I hope that you will continue to read these stories as I put them out even though the real stuff is coming practically nonstop this whole year. While I hope you are able to watch and enjoy all the new Marvel shows and movies, I politely ask that you keep your comments here relevant to this story. Thank you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Danvers Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know you all knew this was coming, but I would still like to place a warning for major character death. This story looks at it from a very different perspective from any of the previous prequels, and these last two chapters hit harder than most. I will post a bonus chapter this week to cap off this story, and because I just finished THE LAST PREQUEL. That's right, Tony's is complete and ready to go. And I have fewer than 10 chapters left of sequel to write. This universe is really coming together people and I couldn't be more excited.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve didn't know exactly what had gone down, but he didn't see Alex at school the next day. He hadn't told anybody that he reported the incident, and nobody asked. The nurse must have done a good job preserving his confidentiality, or the rumors of his involvement would have already spread rampantly. Steve was genuinely surprised that his confession had resulted in anything at all, much less the apparent suspension of Alexander Pierce. What surprised him even more was his subsequent encounter with Brock Rumlow.</p>
<p>"Steve?" Brock said unsurely, approaching him on his way to the nurse before lunch.</p>
<p>Steve turned, expecting to find…well, anyone but Brock Rumlow. "Yeah?"</p>
<p>"Did you—did you report Alex?" Brock sounded, not afraid, but almost relieved. At first, Steve feared that Brock would attack him verbally or physically for getting his friend in trouble, but now he considered that Brock might be just as grateful for Alex's absence as Steve.</p>
<p>"I did," Steve avowed.</p>
<p>"Thank you."</p>
<p>"Excuse me?"</p>
<p>"Thank you so much."</p>
<p>"You're…thanking me?" Steve thought these two were friends, but why would Brock be thankful that Steve sent his friend away?</p>
<p>"Yes. Alex is the worst. I—I only hung out with him because I wouldn't have any friends at all if I left him and Jasper. In kindergarten he made me be his friend and never let me spend time with anyone else. Said if I did anything he didn't like, he'd make everyone in the grade hate me faster than I could run home."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"All the time, I tried to convince him to leave you guys alone, but he always put me down. I feel so bad for some of the things he said to you while I just stood there like an idiot." He sniffled, eyes darting nervously to everywhere but Steve's face.</p>
<p>"Hey, it's okay," Steve said gently. Until now, he'd villainized Brock to the same degree as Jasper, but looking back he recognized that Brock had been nothing but a bystander in all of the instances between the two groups. Based on his description, he was just as much a victim of Alex's tyranny as Steve and his friends.</p>
<p>"No, it's really not. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I needed you to know that I don't agree with anything he ever said about you guys. Honestly, I think you're one of the coolest people I've ever met."</p>
<p>"Wait—really?" That was not something Steve expected to hear from anyone, much less a former ally of his tormenter.</p>
<p>"Yeah. You're…different, but you've always owned it. I respect that."</p>
<p>"Thank you."</p>
<p>"You're welcome. Sorry for bothering you, I just really needed to get that off my chest. And I'm really sorry to hear about Bucky. I wish him the best."</p>
<p>"Thanks. I'll be sure to tell him." Brock started to head in the other direction, but Steve stopped him. "Hey, do you…happen to know what happened to Alex? Did he get suspended, or…"</p>
<p>"Yes. And his dad arranged for him to transfer to some fancy private school. He's not coming back here."</p>
<p>"I guess we need a new vice president, then."</p>
<p>"I guess so." Brock started off again, but Steve took a leap of faith.</p>
<p>"Are you headed to lunch too?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Yeah, why?"</p>
<p>"I just wondered if you had anyone to sit with."</p>
<p>"Um…no. I was planning on reading a book."</p>
<p>"That sounds good. But if you'd like some company, there's an empty seat at our table."</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I gotta go take some meds real quick, but I'll meet you there."</p>
<p>"Okay." Brock flashed a smile and Steve realized that might be the first time he'd ever seen him do that.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>"You did what?!"</p>
<p>"I chased Alex off campus."</p>
<p>"No, what did you <em>actually</em> do. Neither of us is fit for chasing."</p>
<p>Steve was embarrassed to admit that he'd had a complete mental and physical breakdown in front of their rival, but he couldn't lie to Bucky. Not when his actions had so drastically impacted their future. "He was insulting you and just being completely ignorant of the situation, so I snapped at him and then confessed everything he's ever done to the school nurse. I guess she reported it."</p>
<p>"I guess she did if he transferred schools," Bucky stated. "I can't believe that worked."</p>
<p>"That's not even the craziest part."</p>
<p>"What is?"</p>
<p>"I'm kind of…friends with Brock Rumlow now," Steve said hesitantly.</p>
<p>"Are you serious?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. He's actually a nice guy, but he got roped in with Alex and couldn't escape. I actually feel bad for him."</p>
<p>"You feel bad for the person who stood by and watched you get relentlessly bullied for ten years."</p>
<p>"I do."</p>
<p>"You're insane," Bucky scoffed. "What if he snuck into your good graces just so he can stab you in the back?"</p>
<p>"He's not like that, Bucky, I swear. He apologized for everything."</p>
<p>"One apology does not excuse years of being a bystander."</p>
<p>"No, it doesn't, but he's going out of his way to be nice to me now. Things are hard for me at school, without you," he admitted.</p>
<p>"Now you know how I feel," Bucky sighed.</p>
<p>"Yeah, and I hate it."</p>
<p>"I'll be back before you know it," Bucky vowed. "But I might have to take some half days before I get back into the full swing of it. This chemo shit is no joke."</p>
<p>"I know. Take all the time you need."</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>Months passed, and Steve grew accustomed to the lack of Bucky at school. Brock went out of his way to check on Steve throughout the day and offer sympathy on bad days. A bad day for Bucky always translated into a bad day for Steve; it was like they were subconsciously linked. They did get to spend Thanksgiving at home together, and Bucky was home for Christmas, neither of which were guarantees given his situation. Steve was thankful for small blessings these days. The new year brought new patients, and Gravesen's pediatric ward gradually filled up until it was more crowded than Steve had ever seen it. He visited every weekend and at least once a week after school to see Carol, Bucky, or both.</p>
<p>Steve took it upon himself to learn how to deal with Thor's seizures as he gained enough function to be up and about with the rest of them. Thanks to Carol's accidental efforts, he got to have a genuine conversation with Peter for the first time. He let Clint introduce him to his new friend Natasha, and the pair reminded him eerily of Clint and Scott. She had the same sneakiness about her, and she latched onto Steve like a little sibling in the same way Scott had. By mid-February, he felt great both physically and emotionally for helping these kids through a time he knew could be miserable. When he didn't visit in person, he called Carol and Bucky, almost every day, and sometimes they'd invite another one of the kids to say hi. Checking in with them always left Steve with a grand sense of fulfillment. If he ever needed to vent or ran into a problem he couldn't fix, he consulted Carol. She proved an infinite reservoir of good ideas, though she often sandwiched them between heavy doses of sarcasm and good-hearted teasing.</p>
<p>"Bucky's birthday is next month and I have absolutely no idea what to get him," Steve lamented. The past three months had been the most difficult of his best friend's life, and he despaired over what he could possibly do to make his special day special enough to overpower the misery of cancer treatment. Hopefully, March tenth would be a good day for Bucky as far as side effects went, but Steve couldn't count on that. CF hadn't cared that it was Steve's birthday last summer, and cancer wouldn't care for Bucky's. Providing a stellar gift was his only hope.</p>
<p>"What have you gotten him in past years?" Carol asked. After an hour-long brainstorming session failed to yield any passable ideas, Steve had turned to her for help.</p>
<p>"Last year he'd just gotten his braces off, so I got him a basket of all the foods he hadn't been able to eat for two years."</p>
<p>"Why don't you do something like that again? He still eats food, I think. As far as I know they haven't tubed him."</p>
<p>"No, they haven't tubed him. But chemo messed up his taste buds and he gets different cravings every week. I'm afraid that no matter what I pick out it won't get eaten."</p>
<p>"Okay, that's reasonable. Let me think." She paused, and Steve heard the sound of a door opening in the background. Someone else must have just entered or left the common room.</p>
<p>"Is that Steve?" a voice asked. Peter's voice. Steve was still getting used to the fact that he'd started using it.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Carol replied. "We're trying to figure out what to get Bucky for his birthday. You're a boy around his age, do you have any ideas? Steve, I'm putting you on speaker."</p>
<p>"Umm, honestly I think the best thing you can do is something from the heart."</p>
<p>"Like a card?" Steve asked.</p>
<p>"Yeah, but from you."</p>
<p>"You should draw him something," Carol added. "If I were Bucky I'd appreciate that as much as anything."</p>
<p>"I don't know what to draw."</p>
<p>"Yes you do," Carol said knowingly. "Danvers—and Parker—out." And she hung up. Steve sighed, knowing that calling her back was futile. Not knowing what else to do, he reached for the folder where he kept his most important drawings and flipped through it. Of course, his sketch of Carol caught his eye. "Draw what you want to see," she'd prompted him. Steve opened his sketchbook and thought about what he wanted to see for Bucky. He wanted to see him smile and laugh, that was for sure. Thinking about Bucky's laughter reminded him of the time they and their friends had discussed whether or not to attempt to grow out facial hair when they got older. Gabe had insisted Bucky would never look better than clean-shaven, but Bucky countered by saying he'd at least try for 'manly stubble.' Maybe he would when the chemo stopped. Without really thinking about it, Steve started to sketch the familiar face, shading in a tasteful beard and adding hair at the length it was before he shaved it all off. He worked for ninety minutes straight, and he ended up with a picture of Bucky as he might look right this moment if it weren't for cancer. Steve didn't think it was nearly good enough for a birthday gift, but he tucked it away nonetheless and hoped a better idea would strike him before it was too late.</p>
<p>~0~</p>
<p>"I'm afraid things aren't looking good for me." Steve stared at the text through eyes that refused to focus. He'd picked up his phone just to glance at it between second and third period, only to find that message sitting there innocuously. None of his Gravesen companions had replied to it, or there'd be other notifications after, and Steve didn't want to be the first. He didn't want to reply at all, because that would be acknowledging the existence of the message. Instead, he spent the rest of the school day attempting to convince himself that it didn't mean what he thought it did.</p>
<p>"Are you okay, Steve?" Timmy asked at lunch.</p>
<p>"Fine," Steve assured.</p>
<p>"You look a little preoccupied, is Bucky doing okay?"</p>
<p>"He's okay. I'm just stressed."</p>
<p>"Are <em>you</em> okay, physically?" Jim questioned. Steve hadn't fretted about his own health since Bucky started treatment, his issues paling in comparison to the monster his best friend faced.</p>
<p>"I'm fine, I promise."</p>
<p>He wasn't fine. When he got home, he found a voicemail from Carol and listened to it. It was brief, but he heard enough to know she was genuinely afraid. And not a lot existed in this world that could scare Carol Danvers. Despite knowing that this conversation would prove everything he didn't want to be true, he picked up the phone and called her.</p>
<p>"Hey Rogers." She sounded tired and slightly breathless.</p>
<p>"Hey."</p>
<p>"You saw the message?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry I couldn't find a better way to break the news to all of you."</p>
<p>"Is—is it true?"</p>
<p>"It's true," she confirmed. He knew that even Carol would never jokingly say something like that, but a small part of him had hoped it was an elaborate prank. "My—my heart is really giving up the ghost." As if to prove that veracity of that statement, she broke into dry coughing and took way longer than usual to catch her breath.</p>
<p>"Isn't there anything they can do?" Steve pleaded. He desperately wanted this to end any other way, but he knew the odds stood tall against them.</p>
<p>"No. I'm not a candidate for a ventricular assist device. Unless a compatible heart appears on Gravesen's doorstep…"</p>
<p>"How long?" Steve asked, knowing how that statement ended without Carol having to spell it out.</p>
<p>"At this rate, maybe a week."</p>
<p>Steve's breath caught in his chest. He expected to hear at least a month, and even that would have been devastating enough. A week, seven measly days, was not long enough to hope that a heart would appear. It wasn't long enough to check items off a bucket list, or to do anything of significance really. It was barely long enough for Steve to bid her farewell.</p>
<p>"Will you come?"</p>
<p>"Of course." Steve couldn't imagine answering that question any other way. If Carol wanted to see him, under no circumstances would he deny her that. "I can be there tomorrow afternoon."</p>
<p>"See you then. Danvers out."</p>
<p>"Rogers out." Steve hung up and instantly began dreading the visit. The next morning, he went to school to give himself something to think about other than his dying friend. It worked, but not very well. His dad drove him to Gravesen as soon as he got home, and Steve dragged his feet in getting to the familiar ward. Steve's usual room was the first one on the right, Carol's the second. He braced himself before the door and knocked barely loud enough to be heard.</p>
<p>"Come in," a weak voice called. He barely recognized it as Carol's. Steve opened the door, afraid of what he would find. In all the time he'd known her, Carol somehow managed to avoid looking sick. Steve knew she wore a heart monitor and relied on almost as many medications as he did to survive, but she'd always radiated a wholesome energy that made her appear healthy in his eyes. Now, that veil was lifted.</p>
<p>Steve could see the effort it required for her just to breathe, the IV lines that proved her discomfort was great enough to require pharmacological intervention. Despite the ashen pallor to her skin, the light in her eyes had not yet dimmed. Steve clung to that as he mentally prepared himself for what he knew in his heart would be their last conversation.</p>
<p>"Hey Danvers." He tried for a warm smile and came up hopelessly short.</p>
<p>"Hey Rogers." The exchange was so typical for them, they both took a moment to just look at each other and pretend that their lives weren't about to change—or end. Carol eventually broke the silence in saying, "We're twins now."</p>
<p>"Oh yeah?"</p>
<p>"I don't know how you wear this thing all the time; it's annoying," she said, referring to their now-matching oxygen cannulas.</p>
<p>"I got used to it," Steve shrugged.</p>
<p>"I suppose it beats suffocating."</p>
<p>"That's…true." Though he longed for the normalcy of this conversation, Steve knew deep down that they should be spending this precious time on more important things. He knew how much just talking could tire a person out when their lungs were functioning poorly, and he didn't want either of them to waste a single word.</p>
<p>"You're awaiting my dying wish, aren't you?" she asked with a signature smirk.</p>
<p>"What? No."</p>
<p>"I can see it in your eyes, Rogers. Don't worry, I do have mine figured out. When you're told that your only chance of long-term survival is for someone who agreed to give up their organs to die in a very specific manner, you plan ahead." She paused, and Steve knew that whatever she was about to say would hurt him in ways he'd never been hurt before. "Rogers, I met you just after I'd been given the most devastating news I could ever receive. And you were…the best thing that could have possibly happened to me."</p>
<p>Steve wilted. "Ditto," he choked, because the same was true for him. Carol came into his life right after oxygen therapy and the realization that his lifelong downward spiral towards terminal illness had picked up the pace.</p>
<p>"I want a lot of things, most of which I can't have," she sighed wistfully. "But what I want more than anything is for every kid who comes through here to have the privilege of knowing Steve Rogers as I know him."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Don't close yourself off to them because you're afraid of losing them," she continued. "I know…after this…you'll consider it, but please don't. They need you, and you're going to need them."</p>
<p>Steve looked at her in awe. In her last days, she was thinking only of hypothetical sick children in the future. He didn't think he could muster the same selflessness were he in her shoes. "I can do that," he promised with as much conviction as possible. Yes, it would hurt if he lost more friends, but not as much as the knowledge that he could have helped a kid and refused. Fear of loss was no reason not to love.</p>
<p>"Good. But I don't want you to just go and replace me, alright?"</p>
<p>He could tell she was joking, but the mere notion made his stomach churn uncomfortably. Nobody could simply <em>replace</em> Carol. "Of course not."</p>
<p>"To make sure you don't, I'm sticking you with this," she said, picking up her American flag blanket from where it lay neatly folded by her side. She shoved it towards Steve, but he rejected it.</p>
<p>"No. I can't take this; it's yours."</p>
<p>"I'm not going to have much use for it. My parents will probably just stick it in a box forever, but it's too soft to waste like that. I want you to have it," she insisted. Steve knew there was no arguing with Carol, so he reluctantly accepted. "It's not free, though."</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"I want something in return."</p>
<p>"You gave me a gift, and now you're making demands?"</p>
<p>"I'm dying, Rogers. Humor me." Steve hated how she spoke so nonchalantly about her fatal future, but he nodded for her to continue. "I want you to draw something for me."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. I trust you to draw something meaningful, you're good at that sort of thing."</p>
<p>"Carol, I have no idea…"</p>
<p>"You'll come up with something. Although I do have to impose a deadline because I want to take it with me."</p>
<p>"What do you mean? Take it with you where?"</p>
<p>"You know," she said vaguely. The realization smacked Steve in the chest with the force of a heavyweight boxer. She wanted it…with her. Forever. That was more pressure than Steve had ever faced in creating any piece of art.</p>
<p>"Got it," he said despairingly. "I'd better get started then, yeah?"</p>
<p>"Get to it, Rogers."</p>
<p>He sensed that she was kicking him out, probably because she'd exhausted whatever minimal energy reserves she still maintained and didn't want him to watch her crash. But he didn't want to leave. He wanted this moment to stretch out into infinity so he'd never have to leave—so Carol would never leave. But he had work to do, and he'd never get it done sitting here wishing he could trade places with her.</p>
<p>"I'm gonna miss you," he said, voice so dampened down by premature grief it was almost inaudible.</p>
<p>"Not too much, I hope," she replied with an attempt at a smile. Realistically, it looked more like a grimace.</p>
<p>"About as much as you miss full-sodium green beans, how's that?" Steve asked. Just as he'd hoped, Carol cracked a smile—a <em>real</em> smile, and he filed that image away in his brain to keep forever.</p>
<p>"Sounds good."</p>
<p>"Rogers out," he quipped, heading for the door. Steve didn't dare look back, knowing he'd never leave if he did, but he did hear Carol's reply, the new meaning behind it nearly bringing him to his knees.</p>
<p>"Danvers out."</p>
<p>As soon as he arrived home, Steve ripped open his sketchbook and set pencil to paper. His hand flowed across the page without any premeditation, a drawing culminating the past eight months with his friend taking shape before his eyes. Steve didn't pause to take it in until he finished and put the pencil, now a good inch shorter, down. What he'd created utterly floored him. Before he could stop it, a tear dripped from his cheek and soaked into the page. But it didn't ruin the piece. This physical manifestation of the thoughts and feelings behind the drawing instead completed it. He sealed it in an envelope before he could rip it up out of sorrow for what it represented and asked his dad to deliver it tomorrow, knowing he couldn't bear to go back there until it was all over. Steve spent the rest of the night tucked up beneath Carol's blanket and replaying their conversation in his head, both eternally grateful that he had that chance to say goodbye and wrathful that it was all he got.</p>
<p>That was Carol's last good day. The rest were filled with restless sleep, increasingly difficult breaths, and disorientation. Her heart gave out on leap day, and so did the last scraps of emotional strength keeping Steve on his feet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Free metaphorical tissues available in the comments. Also feel free to scream at me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. In Memoriam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve woke up on the first day of March—the first day without <em>her</em>—and stared at Roger. In his miserable daze, he'd neglected to feed himself last night, and waking up to a lack of an emptied bag strung above his head felt alien. Well, waking up probably wasn't the correct term. That implied he slept, which he really didn't. He dozed, maybe, but he spent most of the night lying awake and thinking.</p><p>He thought about everything he never got the chance to do. The chance to reciprocate her wishing him a happy birthday never arrived; they met in July and Carol's birthday wasn't until April. Steve had checked her chart just as she'd snooped through his to discover his date of birth. God, he hadn't even known her long enough to celebrate even one birthday with her. How pathetic. The loss of someone he'd known less than a year utterly and completely gutted him.</p><p>What would happen to him if Bucky's cancer took him away too?</p><p>The mere thought sent Steve spiraling into near-panic. Bucky, who'd held him yesterday while he cried after enduring the worst thing a person could ever be forced to handle. Bucky, who for years dragged him back to light-heartedness every time something brought him down. Bucky, who refused to allow Steve to see him at his most miserable because he knew the guilt at not being able to help would grate on him endlessly.</p><p>Steve <em>loathed</em> not being able to help. He could do nothing but listen as Carol professed her last wishes to him. The only thing that could've saved her, he couldn't provide. His own heart, pretty much the only part of his body that worked like it was supposed to, remained locked away in his own chest, still beating away as if no great tragedy had just slashed a massive hole in it. How dare it plow forward as if everything was normal? As if anything would ever be normal when someone so important had vanished from his life forever. It had been less than twenty four hours, and Steve already missed the sound of her voice.</p><p>Mornings were always rough, and today was no exception. Steve couldn't remember the last time he woke up without immediately slipping into a coughing fit. Secretions built up in his lungs over eight hours of inactivity, and he didn't feel human until after his morning treatments. He stared down at his Afflovest, knowing he ought to put it on and take his meds before he started his day, but couldn't bring himself to even touch it. Sitting down for half an hour with nothing but the gentle hum of the machine and his thoughts did not sound enticing in the least. He'd rather suffer through the congestion than subject himself to that. Instead, he grabbed his phone and opened his messages, reading through every text that had ever been sent between him and Carol. It was like going back in time. Memories resurfaced with every little bubble of text and every photograph, some of them happy enough to elicit a smile despite the grieving monster gnawing away at his insides. He scrolled through eight months of conversation, wanting nothing more than for the screen to jump back to the bottom with a new message. But he knew there would never be another. This finite chat, this relic, was all he would ever get.</p><p>Reading her words, he could almost hear her, but the version of her voice that played in his head wasn't quite the same. Steve lost track of how long he spent scrolling, but eventually he reached the beginning of the conversation: his first digital correspondence with his hospital-neighbor-turned-friend: the picture he'd taken of his wall of drawings on the day they first met, the one with Carol at the center. The sight of it wrapped a hand around his still-beating heart and squeezed viciously.</p><p>He exited from the messages app as quickly as he could, unable to bear looking at it any longer. It teased him, reminding him of the friendship that had been brutally ripped away. Just before he locked his phone with the intention of throwing it across the room, his eyes fell upon another app. Bucky had made fun of his overcrowded voicemail inbox countless times, but Steve never deleted any of them on principle. Maybe he'd recognized that he ought to cling to tangible reminders of his family and friends just in case the worst befell them. Regardless of why, he was infinitely glad to have this particular quirk right now. He scanned through them and found five voicemails from Carol. Without hesitation, he pressed play on the oldest one.</p><p>"Hey Rogers," the hand around his heart tightened its grip at the sound of her nickname for him. "Just wanted to ask how your first day of high school went and offer to beat up any bullies who might've singled you out. I'll make sure they know no one's allowed to make fun of you except me and Bucky. Talk to you later. Danvers out." She'd signed off every call or FaceTime they'd ever had the same way, forcing him to reciprocate with "Rogers out." They'd talked so often that he found himself ending calls to his parents with "Rogers out" out of habit. He'd better break that habit soon, or every time he said it a wave of grief would drag him back under.</p><p>He listened to the next one, recognizing the date as right after Bucky's diagnosis. "Hey Rogers…I, uh…I know who my new neighbor is and figured you might need someone to talk to. Or you might want to be alone, and that's fine too, but I thought I'd offer. Anyway, I just want you to know I'm here for you, for both of you. I promise I'll take good care of him while he's in here with me. Danvers out." Steve shuddered because she <em>wasn't</em> here anymore, but now more than ever he needed to talk to her. She would know what to say; she was always so good with people. The next voicemail only further proved that.</p><p>"Hey Rogers, I just wanted to let you know that I kinda got Peter to talk? Without even trying? Next time we talk I'll tell you all about it. Or maybe Peter will. Danvers out." Where the Falcon and Dr. van Dyne had failed for two months, Carol succeeded. She'd been over the moon, rambling for twenty minutes about how she thought the unfamiliar voice had been a ghost at first before she recognized Peter had actually spoken.</p><p>"Hey Rogers, I guess you're busy hacking up your lungs or listening to Bucky rave about amputee soccer…or whatever it is you do when you're not here. Anyway, Dr. Wilson got a new pet that I think you might like. And I wanted to be the one to tell you all about him. Call me when you get a chance. Danvers out." He'd never actually gotten to meet the pet, a parrot called Redwing, since Dr. Wilson had to return him before Steve visited his office, but apparently its favorite word had been "Psych!"</p><p>The final voicemail sat on the screen in front of him. He knew what it contained, having been left only a week ago, but he listened anyway. "Hey Rogers. I know you saw my text in the group chat, and…and I—I need to talk to you. Okay? Please call me. Danvers out." The same sensation of fear gripped him upon hearing the frightened quaver in her voice as had struck the first time. He'd known, deep down, when he read that text that the end was near. But he'd tried to deny it until it became evident that there was no other possible ending to Carol's story.</p><p>He listened to the five messages over and over again for as long as he would've been doing his vest. And he listened to them again for every subsequent treatment. Thirty minutes, twice a day. Not only did he stop his airway clearance, he stopped everything. Eating, meds, sleeping, night feeds… none of it mattered anymore. The physical misery barely registered with the emotional anguish swirling around his head.</p><p>On the day of her funeral, he dressed in a plain black suit and tie and joined his parents in waiting for the Barnes. Bucky wore a suit similar to Steve's, complete with a solid black beanie and his face mask. His immune system was so damaged that it was risky for him to even go to an event like this, but given the circumstances it was well worth the risk. They hugged, but no words were exchanged. There was nothing to say.</p><p>At the front of the room stood an elegant wooden casket—thankfully closed. Steve didn't think he could handle having to look. He preferred not to replace his last memory of her face. That face stared back at him from a portrait displayed beside her, clearly chosen by her parents. It was old, from before she cut her hair, possibly a school photo. On the opposite side, a couple who must have been her parents stood accepting condolences, along with a young man Steve had never seen, but who looked startling like her.</p><p>He made his way forward to offer his sympathies, along the way glancing around and wondering how all these people knew her. Many were young, likely classmates and other friends, while others he suspected were extended family. So many of them had known her since she was born, and he'd only gotten eight meager months. He really should have worn a face mask, hugging strangers in a crowded room on the tail end of flu season, but he knew he'd end up ripping it off when he inevitably started crying. The young man beside Carol's parents took one look at him and said, "You must be Rogers." Like her parents, he was outwardly composed, but his eyes held a deep sorrow.</p><p>"<em>Steve</em> Rogers," he corrected. Hearing that nickname only reminded him that he'd never hear Carol call him that again. It belonged to her, and he didn't want anyone else to use it. For some reason, his response made the man smile. Steve looked at him, puzzled.</p><p>"She never told you about me, did she?"</p><p>Steve shook his head solemnly.</p><p>"I'm Steve. I'm her big brother."</p><p>Steve's eyes widened in shock as he mindlessly accepted the man's handshake. Not once had Carol given any indication she had an older brother, much less one who shared Steve's name. Maybe that was why she'd almost exclusively called him Rogers, the name Steve irrevocably associated with this person.</p><p>"Nice to meet you," Steve managed.</p><p>"Likewise, though I wish it were under better circumstances."</p><p>"Yeah," Steve sighed. His gaze drifted to the casket and the urge to confirm whether Carol's wish had been realized overwhelmed him. "She asked me to make her a drawing that she could, um…keep with her."</p><p>Carol's brother answered his question before he could even flesh it out. "She's got it. I made sure of that. Thank you, it's a really beautiful piece."</p><p>"It was the least I could do."</p><p>"The way Carol talks about you, you did a whole lot more than just draw pictures. You made the last months of her life as good as they could possibly be."</p><p>That was simultaneously the best and worst thing he could have said to Steve in that moment. He confirmed that Steve made a positive difference in Carol's life, which is all he sought to do whenever he made a friend, but he also reinforced the finality of that life. Only with monumental willpower did Steve avoid breaking down. They exchanged a hug, and Steve made his way back to his parents and Bucky.</p><p>"Who is that?" Bucky asked.</p><p>"Carol's brother, Steve," Steve answered.</p><p>"Really? She never mentioned him."</p><p>"I know. Nice guy, though."</p><p>They sat in silence until the service began. Steve held it together for approximately two minutes, and then he was gone, blubbering into Bucky's good shoulder while his friend cried silently, tears disappearing beneath his mask. He wasn't the only one. Carol's parents sobbed audibly throughout her brother's eulogy. He told a story about go kart racing, how a nine-year-old Carol crashed spectacularly after he warned her to slow down. She strode from the wreckage with her head held high and asked him if it looked badass. Steve laughed through his tears at that because it was so unequivocally <em>Carol</em> that for a moment he could picture her so vividly it was like she was right there beside him.</p><p>And then they put her in the ground and Steve was cruelly reminded that she'd never be beside him again.</p><p>~0~</p><p>When he returned home after the funeral, he changed out of his suit and curled up on the couch, wanting to be away from any reminders of all the routines he was neglecting. He even took the cannula off his face and closed the valve on the tank. Unexpectedly, he fell asleep, and even more unexpectedly, he didn't dream. An indeterminate amount of time later, he awoke in his bed with his oxygen replaced, Carol's American flag blanket draped over him. Dad must have carried him. It was a testament to how bone-tired he'd been that he hadn't woken up in transit. His parents had also left him a plate, which he actually managed to nibble at before giving up. If he neglected to take his enzymes before eating, he didn't remember.</p><p>Steve considered heading out to the living room to say hello to his parents and thank them for taking care of him, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He listened to Carol's voicemails again, closing his eyes and imagining she was there on the other end of the phone telling him this in real time. At some point, he fell asleep again.</p><p>This time he did dream.</p><p>He dreamed that Carol got the transplant that saved her life. Steve watched as if before a movie screen as Dr. Rhodes gave her the news. Her face lit up through the gray haze of illness, then darkened as she recognized that somebody must have died for this to happen. Though it was selfish, Steve didn't much care if some stranger died if that meant Carol lived. After the surgery, Bucky visited her, but he was distraught, not the right emotion for someone whose friend had just been saved from certain death.</p><p>"You know, don't you?" Carol asked knowingly.</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"Who was it? Whose heart?"</p><p>"Steve's," Bucky croaked, burying his face in his hands. Carol closed her eyes and rested a hand over her heart—Steve's heart. A single tear wound its way down her face.</p><p>"Fuck you Rogers, it should have been me," she snapped. Steve jolted awake, chest heaving, at the sound of dream-Carol's first heartbroken sob. His breathing rapidly deteriorated into distressed coughing, a fit he didn't think would ever end until it finally did, leaving him physically exhausted. <em>It should have been me</em>. Well, it <em>was</em> her, and Steve was stuck here living with that fact. Their blood types matched, that much he knew from their mutual snooping into each other's charts, but the idea of organ donation was entirely unfathomable because of his illness. Steve surrendering his heart for Carol had never been a possibility. But it had felt so real. Is that how she would have reacted if he'd made that sacrifice? Steve would never know.</p><p>His self-neglect continued until one week after Carol's passing. By that point he found it difficult to breathe unless he was sitting up perfectly straight and focused entirely on expanding his ribcage, and his stomach hurt something fierce from the times he'd managed to eat while also abandoning his enzymes. In some twisted way, he felt he deserved it. Or at least this physical misery was an excellent representation of how he felt inside. Steve knew it wasn't a sustainable lifestyle, and he was genuinely surprised it took his parents as long as it did to intervene.</p><p>"Steve, this is unacceptable," his mother scolded. "I know you're hurting, but at this rate you're going to kill yourself and I won't stand by and watch it! You're not eating, you're barely breathing, and you're feverish. Your father is packing your things and we're going to Gravesen right now."</p><p>Steve didn't even bother to argue. He wouldn't have the energy even if he wanted to. But he knew she was right. Neglecting himself like he'd been doing would hurt anyone's health, but in his case it affected him infinitely more. He could physically feel the infection-riddled mucus sitting in his chest. The ride to Gravesen passed in the blink of an eye, and Steve found himself in his usual room, hugging Carol's blanket to his chest as if it could fill the hole carved there.</p><p>"Hey Steve," Bucky said gently from the doorway. Steve didn't even look up at him. "I know it must be hard being back here after…but I'm right across the hall if you ever need anything, okay?" Steve nodded morosely. Venturing into the hallway meant catching a glimpse of the emptied out room next door, so he didn't exactly want to leave. Bucky recognized he wasn't going to engage in a conversation, so he turned and left Steve alone. He wasn't alone for much longer, because nurses bombarded him with questions and accessed his port and took a whole bunch of vitals while he just sat there, rubbing his thumb over Carol's blanket. Dead to the world he remained until they enforced putting him back on the vest.</p><p>His lungs were so clogged up that after the first treatment he coughed up so much that it triggered his gag reflex. The shaking of the vest aggravated the pain in his gut, bringing him to tears. They sent him to abdominal x-ray, diagnosed a distal intestinal obstruction from missing his enzymes, and promptly pumped his g-tube full of laxatives. That was all kinds of miserable, but at least it worked and they didn't have to result to more invasive methods. Between breathing treatments the next afternoon, they sent him to the Falcon's office. Steve had been there a few times before, a few of those times being for grief counseling after Scott, but he'd never before felt like he <em>needed</em> it this badly.</p><p>"Sometimes I think about if it would be better if I'd donated my heart," he admitted a ways into the session. "Even though I know that's not feasible."</p><p>Dr. Wilson didn't act surprised or horrified to hear him say such a thing, though Steve supposed he'd been trained never to act horrified at anything a patient told him. "Why do you think it might be?" he ultimately asked.</p><p>"Because I wouldn't have to live with this hurt. And—and because she probably deserves to live more."</p><p>"Steve, have you thought about hurting yourself or about suicide?" he questioned, gravely serious.</p><p>"Besides skipping my treatments, no," Steve said honestly. He couldn't save Carol by dying, he knew that. One, it was too late, and two, CF disqualified him from donating organs anyway. It was just a hypothetical question his brain had decided to ruminate over.</p><p>"I agree that living with grief is difficult, but the key here is <em>living</em> with grief. You need to give yourself time and the right tools, and you will learn to live with this. Because you deserve to live just as much as anyone else."</p><p>"She definitely would have handled me dying better than I'm handling this."</p><p>"Everyone grieves differently. You are allowed to do whatever you need, unless it endangers you or anyone else. Is there anything you've tried to help?"</p><p>"I—I read through all our old text chats. And listened to voicemails from her that I still have on my phone."</p><p>"That's good. Those are both good ways to cope, as long as it doesn't become obsessive. I'm going to summarize a poem that I've used with other grieving patients. When someone passes away, it is the job of the living to prevent a <em>second</em> death. The second death is when the living forget about them. It's important to remember a person's life, not just their death. Does that make sense?"</p><p>It made perfect sense. Yes, he now lived with this hole in his life, but where that hole sat had once stood an amazing girl, and she deserved to be remembered fondly. That evening, he stood in front of the gauntlet and whispered to a Carol he hoped could somehow hear him, "I will never forget, and I will do everything I can to accomplish what you asked of me. Also, thanks for the blanket."</p><p>It still ached. Steve suspected it always would. Only now, the numbness had dissipated enough for him to really register the number he'd done on his body with a week of missed treatments. Bucky sat with him during his second vest treatment of the day, and Steve scared the hell out of him when the coughing made him vomit again. When his half hour elapsed, he collapsed against the pillows in exhaustion. Bucky planted himself on the edge of the bed next to him, and announced, "I have something I want you to see."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"A few months ago, when Parker's arm healed, Carol wanted to do something to celebrate." Steve had never heard of this event, even though Carol told him about all the goings-on at Gravesen. "She swore me to silence because she knew you'd disapprove of what we decided to do, but I caught the whole thing on video and I thought you might like to see it now."</p><p>"Yeah, okay," Steve said, somewhat shocked. He hadn't expected to find any more tangible memories than those he already had, but here Bucky was promising a video of Carol doing what she did best: making her friends feel joy. Bucky handed over his phone and Steve hit play. For the next five minutes, he watched utter chaos unfold in the hospital's main lobby, with Carol at the helm. Bucky's snickering from behind the camera contributed to the audio, as did a brief cameo from Dr. Lee. "Send me this," Steve demanded through his laughter.</p><p>"Already done," Bucky said. "Man, she would kill me if she knew I let you see that."</p><p>"She knows," Steve said wistfully. "She knows."</p><p>~0~</p><p>Steve felt like he'd definitely turned a corner, both with his grief and his neglect-induced illness. His fever was lower, and a week on four treatments a day had noticeably reduced the amount of junk sitting in his lungs. When Scott died, the Falcon had walked him through a coping system called PERMA. He reminded Steve of that technique now and helped him find ways to utilize it. Every day Steve strived to check off things in all of those categories. Bucky provided most of the positive emotions in the form of smiles and laughter, but young Natasha hadn't just learned English as a second language, but English <em>sarcasm</em> as a second language. She and Clint provided both humor and a sense of purpose for Steve, who did his best to look after them and the other kids in all the ways that busy nurses and doctors couldn't.</p><p>He should've known the peace he'd built for himself was a fragile one.</p><p>On Saturday morning, he awoke to a shuffling that could only mean one thing. They were preparing the room next door for a new occupant. The mere notion made the grief sitting dormant in the pit of his stomach awaken with a roar. Gravesen had moved on, using <em>her</em> room for some other kid. Steve wasn't ready to stop thinking of it as her room. He ran to Bucky, emotions threatening to spill over in a messy cascade. Of course his best friend knew just what to say to ease his mind.</p><p>Steve's thoughts drifted to his last conversation with Carol. She'd asked him to make sure that <em>every</em> kid unfortunate enough to end up here had the privilege to be taken care of by Steve Rogers. How horrible would it be if Steve neglected this kid because he couldn't face someone existing in the same space where Carol once stood? If he allowed that to happen, he was effectively surrendering his mind and soul to Thanatos. Steve had no intention of surrendering <em>anything</em> to that son of a bitch.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can't believe this monstrosity of a prequel has finally come to an end. I hope you all have enjoyed getting to know Steve (and Bucky) as much as I have. And if it's any consolation after this depressing chapter, I only deeply cover Carol's death one more time, at the end of TCMP. Well...it's also there in 2,175 Days, but not as in-depth. Before we venture down that road, however, we must spend some time with one Nicholas J. Fury in "An Eye for An Eye." His prequel ended up being so...different than I ever imagined. But I hope it's a good different. See you there!</p>
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